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THE TRAIL OF THE MAINE PIONEER 



This Edition of The Trail of the Maine Pioneer, 
published by the Maine Federation of Women's 
Clubs, is limited to 2,000 copies, of which this is 



No. 



of the 

iiie Pioneer 



BY 

MEMBERS OF THE 
MAINE FEDERATION OF WOMEN'S CLUBS 



KINEO 

How beautiful the morning breaks 
Upon the Kin^ of mountain lakes! 
The forests, far as eye can reach, 
Stretch iSreen and still from either beach, 
And leagues aivay the waters gleam 
Resplendent in the sunrise beam; 
Yet feathery vapors, circling slow 
Wreathe the dark brow of Kineo. 

— Frances L. Mace. 



LEWISTON JOURNAL COMPANY 

Publishers 

LEWISTON, MAINE 

1916 






Copyright 1916 
By Lewiston Journal Company 

GKft 



®0 

(6race A. Hing 

Prestiient of tljc HHaiuc iFrbrration of Hamen'a (Elulie 
1915-19ir 



MAINE 

[To the Tune of ''America."] 

My father's state, to thee, 

First state of all to me, 

My love 1 hring. 

In thy sweet woods I'll roam, 

Thy name to me is home, 

Pine trees and ocean foam. 

Till/ praise I sing. 

— June Wlteeler Bainbridge. 



A FOREWORD 



To the Women of Maine: 

The one thing needful in history teaching, the thing so often missed, but 
without which there is no result worth while, is imagination. The process 
of tidal historical study, all up and down the scale from Kindergarten to 
University, must be through and through imaginative. Not to catalogue 
the features of the past, but to re-create the life that once informed those 
features, is the true aim of history in all its phases. To acquire the difiicult 
art of calling up that life, of bodying it forth out of the strange and 
ambiguous things known as human documents, is a feat of the disciplined 
imagination as difficult as it is precious. — Professor Nathaniel W. Stephen- 
son of the College of Charleston in an address before the American Histori- 
cal Society, igi6. 



I am asked to zvrite you a letter of thanks and congratulation on the 
achievement embodied in this, your book, illuminating the trail of the Maine 
pioneer. A'o mission could be less a task. 

You volunteers of this literary commomvealth have added epic prose to 
that far-flung verse which has put a halo over the trail of the pioneer since 
in the dawn of history Asiatic emigrants chased the westering sun across 
the Golden Horn. History zvas sung before it zvas written as Mother Goose 
and Santa Claus still are sung to those who have yet to acquire an alphabet. 

The tidal sweep of races westward and yet "Westivard Ho," reached the 
Gulf of Maine thirteen years before the anchor of the Mayflower dropped 
in Plymouth Harbor. Our oivn Pemaquid was discovered and settled before 
they hung Quakers on Boston Conunon and put zvitches on the high places 
of Salem. The first woman's club was established by Anne Hutchinson in 
Boston close to the time when Maine women were carried into captivity by 
the Indians at Berwick and Saco. It was near the day when Sir Ferdi- 
nando Gorges got his sailors on horseback that the first city government was 
organized in the Dominion of Maine. But the Spanish Conquest preceded 
the discovery of Agamenticus, while 'twas before Agamenticus was sighted 
that Capt. John Smith landed at Monhegan. 

When Cortez and the drifting pilgrimages of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries reached the Pacific, it was discovered that the successors of the 
Aryans crossing The Hellespont had surprised the sunrise close to the sun- 
set. Only a zvide waste of waters separated California from the East Indies. 
But the primitive occupiers of the Eastern Nezu World were led by King 
Philip as well as by Pocahontas, by the flintlock and the axe at Old York 
and Berzvick as zvell as by the constructive spade and the beckoning pipe of 
friendly Samoset. 

Just here, the tragic history of Maine begins. Just here heroes and 
heroines stain the forest glades with their blood while others sail up and 
down the uncharted coasts of the Gulf of Maine. Just here, ye women of 
Maine, do you illuminate our annals. Right here you kindle our imaginations 
by re-animating definite persons, marshaling them before us, not hand-inade 



A FOREWORD CONTINUED 

inanimates hut animating leaders of universal democracy, consecrated by 
heroism unto martyrdom. 

In meetinghouses, schoolhouses and cabins of York, Berwick, Saco, Rich- 
mond's Island and other isles and shores, this Colonial commonzvealth was 
possessed in faith before it ivas made by works. History ever spills its ashes 
where father, mother and child kindle altar fires. 'Tis love that makes and 
belts the globe. 'Tis the imagination that conquers countless worlds and 
satellites. The Popham Colony died in getting itself born. The chief justice 
had his eyes on the throne in the north of Europe, not on the hearth in the 
east of North America. There was neither wife nor mother in the patrician 
commune of Sir John Popham. 

Women of Maine, we salute you! Proud are we and beyond measure 
are we enriched by your diligent research and your poetic sensibility. You 
have enabled us to defect a fast fading trail which, but for you, might have 
been forever obliterated. The tang of the wood enriches the zvine. Happily, 
your fine attention guarantees that the inspiring nectar shall not be lavished 
on the falling leaves. You have resuscitated Martha Smith of Berwick, as 
ivell as Capt. Waymouth of Pemaquid. In flesh and blood do you clothe 
Maine history. Necessary to the structure is the skeleton, but — man is a 
vertebrate phis. And does not the poetry which creates history, create histo- 
rians? Drab annals are essential, but the animating figures of real history 
itivite literary art. 

Having handed doivn to the last syllable of history and biography four- 
score, a noble group of men and women representing those who for sixty 
centuries have been chanting the canticles of Futurity, you women of the 
Federated Clubs of Maine deserve and receive our greetings and congratu- 
lations! We thank you very much for what you have done, but may we not 
beg you to achieve one more important work. Please come again into the 
wings and bring to the center of the stage a new book, completing the cycle 
of Maine history and biography. If you please, this book may be bound in 
pine tassels and adorned with zvild flowers. And on the title page of Book 
III may the die cast something like this: "The Wit, Humor and Mirth of 
Maine." 



7-.^.....^/^ ^ .a3-^7^ 



Lewiston, Maine, 

Pilgrims' Day, MDCCCCXVI. 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 



In "Tlie Trail of the Maine Pioneer," the club women of Maine offer a 
second book of Maine historical stories, a companion volume to "Maine in 
History and Romance." Like the first book, "The Trail of the Maine 
Pioneer" is a collection of prize stories resulting from a contest conducted 
by the Lewiston Journal in 1916 and open only to the club women aOiliated 
with the Maine Federation. 

The decision to publish this second series of stories in book form was 
made at Kineo at the annual meeting of the Maine Federation of Women's 
Clubs held in September, 1916, and in happy memory of which, a picture 
of Mount Kineo is made the frontispiece of this book. 

Thirteen writers whose work is included in this volume are new con- 
testants; the remaining ten are old friends, whose stories in "Maine in 
History and Romance" are happily recalled. 

To Mrs. Grace A. Wing, President of the Maine Federation, and her execu- 
tive board. Miss Fanny E. Lord, Mrs. Amos Clement, Mrs. Myrtle L. T. 
White, Mrs. Ezra H. ^Vhite, Mrs. Elizabeth Porter and Mrs. Frederick P. 
Abbott, the committee is indebted for helpful suggestions and hearty co- 
operation. 

The committee expresses its appreciation of the Lewiston Journal Com- 
pany, for conducting the prize story contest, for the gift of the copyrighted 
stories, the cuts, cover design, and for continued personal interest. 

Special thanks are due the Federation prize award committee, Mrs. 
Robert J. Aley of Orono, Mrs. Fabius M. Ray of Westbrook and Mrs. Seth 
S. Thornton of Houlton, who carefully read the forty stories submitted in 
the prize contest and assisted in awarding the prizes. 

To the public for the cordial greeting it has extended to our second book, 
to the authors of these stories, to the New England newspapers which have 
given liberal publicity notices, to the book sellers, who have assisted gratui- 
tously in the sale of the book, and all others who have helped the Maine 
Federation of Women's Clubs to make its second book, "The Trail of the 
Maine Pioneer" a success, the committee makes gracious acknowledgment. 

LIZZIE NORTON FRENCH 
ELISABETH BURBANK PLUMMER 
STELLA KING WHITE 
LOUISE WHEELER BARTLETT 
MARY HILL BINFORD 

Book Publication Committee. 



CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

1 A Mystery of the Bagaduce 1 

By Mary Dunbar Devereux, Castine; Woman's Club 

2 Wooing of Mistress Polly: A Romance of the Boxer and Enterprise 13 

By Ella Matthews Bangs, Portland; Woman's Literary Union 

3 The Garden of the East: Wiscasset on Sheepscot Bay 27 

By Maude Clark Gay, Waldoboro; Woman's Club 

4 The Luck of the Juliet, or a Tragedy of the Sea 51 

By Louise Wheeler Bartlett, Castine; Woman's Club 

5 Martha Smith of Berwick 65 

By Cora Belle Bickford, Biddeford; The Wayfarers, Biddeford, 
and Woman's Literary Union, Portland 

6 Back to the Army 87 

By Gertrude Lewis, Castine; Woman's Club 

7 A Romance of Mount Desert Island 101 

By Beulah Sylvester Oxton, Rockland: Methebesec 

8 Governor King 115 

By lone B. Fales, Lewiston; Maine Writers Research 

9 Under Jackson's Cloak; or the Sawyer's Inheritance 125 

By Mrs. Harry Delbert Smart, Bangor; Nineteenth Century 

10 Father Rasle and His Strong Box 141 

By Henrietta Tozier Totnian, Oakland; Tuesday Club, Oakland; 
Waterville Woman's Club 

11 An Isle of the Sea 161 

By Orrie L. Quimby, Biddeford; Thursday Club 

12 Queen of the Kennebec 177 

By Mrs. E. C. Carll, Augusta; Current Events 

13 General Henry Knox 189 

By Mrs. John O. Widber, Auburn; Woman's Literary Union of 
Androscoggin County 

14 A Glimpse of Belfast Under Maine's First Governor 209 

By Hester P. Brown, Belfast; Travelers 

15 Some Haunted Houses and Their Ghosts 221 

By Annie M. L. Hawes, Portland; Travelers 



CONTENTS CONTINUED 

16 Robert Andrews, a Hero of Bunker Hill 235 

By Eva L. Shorey, Bridgton; Bridgton Literary, and Portland 
Woman's Literary Union 

17 The Story of Ancient Gorgeana 249 

By Nina Victoria Adams Talbot {Mrs. Archie Lee Talbot) , Lewiston; 
Reading Circle 

18 Two Justices of the Supreme Court of Maine 263 

By Florence Waii^h Danforth, Skowhegan; Woman's Club 

19 Mrs. North's Story 277 

By Sara E. Svensen, Round Pond; Fortnightly 

20 When Colonel Arnold was Major Colburn's Guest 291 

By Theda Cary Dingley, Auburn; Woman's Literary Union of 
Androscoggin County 

21 A Minister of Ye Olden Tyme 299 

By Fanny E. Lord, Bangor; Norumbega 

22 A Man and a Maid 309 

By Jessica J. Haskell, Hallowell; Current Events, Augusta 

23 The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Loud's Island 319 

By Marietta Munro Simmons, Round Pond; Fortnightly 



A MYSTERY OF THE BAGADUCE 




A Mystery of the Bagaduce 

By MARY DUNBAR DEVEREUX 

PON the hill just above the little settlement of Majabag- 
uaduce, in the District of j\Iaine, Commonwealth of 
Massachusetts, stood Master Pelatiah Beach, overlooking 
the town and tlie Bagaduce River whose mouth formed 
the harbor of that quaint old port — old over a century 
ago. He looked out over the slope at his feet, the river 
and the hills beyond, now covered with the first snows 
of the season, then he turned toward the yoke of oxen, driven by the 
serving man plodding at their heads and bound for the home above 
the "Narrows," where his tidy, cleared farm and pasture land, with 
its rude but roomy log house and barns, betokened the energy and 
thrift of the young man. 

Off to his left rose the walls of Fort George, on this last evening 
of November, 1783, yet occupied by the Redcoats who, four years 
previously, had defeated the Patriot army and fleet collected to 
oppose Gen. McLean's occupation. 

The approach of an officer with three men did not at all discon- 
cert Beach as the garrison had been friendly toward the inhabitants, 
excepting in a few instances, and from them, sturdy, plodding, but 
shrewd Pelatiah Beach had gotten no little revenue by the sale of 
produce. His servant had just discharged the last of many loads 
of provisions given in exchange for English coin. He responded in 
neighborly fashion to the greeting of the officer and, after some 
minutes of conversation concerning the prospect for to-morrow, the 
coming cold season, and the harbor and Bay of Penobscot so well 
known to him. Beach was turning to follow his ox team, when sud- 
denly he felt the officer's hand laid in authority and command upon 
his arm — 

"We are leaving for Halifax on the morrow. Master Beach, and 
have need of a pilot down your Bay of Penobscot," said the officer. 
"In the king's name follow me into the presence of our general!" 

In vain Beach protested. Not even allowed to recall his man, 
now out of sight over the hill leading from the Peninsula of Penta- 
goet, or to communicate in any way with his family, he was hurried 
over to the barracks whence, at dawn, the British embarked in His 
Majesty's ships for Halifax, and not for more than two years was 
Pelatiah Beach seen again in his native District of Maine. 

Meanwhile, his mother and young wife, with her little ones, were 
rudely startled from their busy life of quiet security, first, by the 
failure of the son and husband to return with the shadows of evening 



4 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

and by the servant's report that his master was last seen in con- 
verse with British officers. Later, their alarm and distress were in- 
creased by news from the port that watching townsfolk had seen 
Pelatiah Beach marched under guard to the landing, at daybreak, 
and embarked upon H. M. Ship "Greyhound" with the last company 
of Redcoats. 

Was he to be punished, perhaps shot, for some fancied wrong? 
Was he a hostage, or held for ransom in spite of the recent treaty of 
peace? Or had he merely been taken as a pilot down the Bay on 
account of his well-known knowledge of its waters ? In this last case 
he might be landed and return home within a few days, and for this 
his family hoped until, learning that the "Greyhound" had been 
grounded for some hours in the Reach below, but had later pro- 
ceeded, the chance that he might be accused of wilfully endangering 
the fleet seemed to destroy their last hopes. 

Days, weeks, months passed, and he returned not; neither was 
any word of his fate received, and friends and neighbors became con- 
vinced that Mistress Beach was a widow and her babes fatherless. 
But if they anticipated helpless need on the part of the family, they 
were happily disappointed. The young wife, of slight, girlish figure, 
with softly rounded cheek in which the rose of youth strove with 
creamy pallor, her dark hair wavy and lustrous above the broad, low 
brow and brilliant dark eyes, a girl in appearance, proved herself a 
strong and brave woman in adversity. 

She had been reared more softly and with more culture than her 
neighbors for at New Falmouth (Portland), even in those early days 
girls met less of the rough life of pioneer folk, more of the refine- 
ments of the town. Mistress Mary — or "Polly" as the Marys of 
those days were usually called, having already learned from Mother 
Beach all the skill of the country housewife, now proved that she 
could direct the farm work as well. The preparation for the long, 
cold winter was completed, the stock housed, cellars and barns banked 
with fir boughs against mid-winter frosts ; and when spring came at 
last tardily out of the South, the little heroine planned, directed and 
assisted in all the planting, cultivating and harvesting of her crops, 
not one of her neighbors having sleeker cattle or better produce for 
table or market than she. 

Thus a year passed and another, and still no word of Master Pel- 
atiah Beach! Yet another winter was passing from the Penobscot. 
Majabaguaduce was busy and stirring. Fishing had proved lucra- 
tive, and the lumbering pursuits offered in the region were drawing 
new settlers and calling home those who had fled during the British 
occupation. The renewal of land grants gave added impetus to im- 
migration. 



A Mystery of the Bagaduce 5 

On a late March day of 1786, when spring promised in the warmth 
of the sun's rays and in the melting snows and bare brown hillsides 
and the faint breeze jnst rippled the waters and haltingly filled the 
sails of the ships in the harbor of ^lajabaguaduce, a newly arrived 
trader dropped her anchor in front of the Town Landing at the foot 
of the main street. Presently a boat put out from the ship's side; 
the occupants landed, drew their boat upon the beach and walked up 
into the little settlement. 

One man, taller and broader than any one of the others and the 
last to land, followed his companions briskly for a few rods, then 
paused to look about, to turn again to the harbor, to gaze off across 
the water toward the opposite shore, either as if recalling scenes once 
familiar or, it might be, fixing in mind a picture never beheld 
before. Meeting a group of citizens, talking animatedly of the re- 
cent expulsion of some who had been inimical to the Patriots' cause 
during the Revolution and of the new grants of land to incoming set- 
tlers, the newcomer again paused, then moved forward as if he would 
have passed the group in silence. 

But Capt. Jeremiah Bardwell stepped forward with amazement 
and welcome in his bluff countenance. 

"Why, Pel Beach! Are ye risen from the dead?" he shouted. 

"As sure as I am Jeremiah Bardwell and these men, Dave Will- 
son and Gabril Jahonnot, here is Pel Beach come back to life ! Wel- 
come home, old neighbor! — Won't this give Mistress Polly a start! 
And Bill Hutchins saying no longer ago than last Sabbath that a pity 
it was .such a fine young woman had not yet taken a second husband 
to help her manage the farm and the children, w4th Pel dead and gone 
these two years and more ! Welcome home ! " 

Handshakings followed, and Capt. Perkins with Mr. Aaron Banks 
also came forward to meet the long absent citizen. 

Soon it was noised up and dow^n the street that Pelatiah Beach 
of the farm up the Bagaduce had come back from prison in Halifax 
or England — or was it Ireland? — and from voyaging to the West 
Indies and had just arrived on the Brig Polly from Boston. Several 
others hastened at the news to greet the traveler; and so in homely 
converse passed an hour or two, the wanderer joining only occasion- 
ally with remark or question, but listening to and watching intently 
all that went on about him. 

Capt. Bardwell took him hospitably into his company and presently 
led their steps from the town up over the hill whence, two years be- 
fore, Pelatiah Beach had been taken by the British officer. At the 
cove back of the peninsula they embarked in the Captain's skiff and 
rowed stoutly up the river, Capt. Jeremiah, whose home lay far up 
the Bagaduce, talking volubly of the changes in family or fortune 
in each homestead which they passed. He landed the traveler at 
"The Eddy" just below the famous Bagaduce Narrows, promising 



6 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

to call soon to see his old neighbor, and then rowed swiftly up stream 
with the current. 

Left to himself, the wanderer stood, almost hesitating to take the 
road dimly marked before him and bounded here and there by hum- 
ble homesteads. He had passed on for a thoughtful ten minutes 
when he paused again in the light of the setting sun, doubtful, unde- 
cided. Did he even turn back to gaze down the river as if he would 
retrace his route to the Port and leave the Bagaduce region forever? 
Had the absence and the cold of winter and loneliness entered his 
soul and frozen even the love of home and kindred? 

The smell of the bare brown sods at his feet came up with the 
promise of spring and of hope and courage. The sunset threw a 
warm radiance on the whole countryside. The bleating of new-bom 
lambs and their dams at a nearby barn was heard. Ah ! such homely 
sights and sounds of coming life and joy! And, in the slender little 
birches by the roadside, suddenly a little black-capped chickadee 
started his spring song — the bird's brave little note of courage and 
promise! It seemed like a welcome home. 

The man passed on, by the low farmhouses of several old neigh- 
bors, pausing at each to look, to murmur a word or two under his 
breath as if conning an oft-repeated lesson, and so on to the home- 
stead of the Beaches. Again he paused ere he walked up the path 
from the high-road and, as he reached his own door, it opened to 
allow the passage of the same serving man who had accompanied 
Master Beach on that momentous trip to the port, two years before. 
The fellow stared a moment at the strange figure, peered doubtfully 
again, then, dropping the milking pails which he held in either hand, 
he turned back shouting, ' ' The Lord be praised, Pel Beach has come 
home ! ' ' 

The ruddy glow from the fire of logs on the hearth within shone 
upon Pelatiah Beach, standing upon his own threshhold, and lit up 
the scene within— the children in a curious and interested group, 
Mother Beach in her wide arm-chair, her whitened hair smooth over 
the wrinkled brow, her hands now raised in amazed welcome of the 
long lost son, — and Mistress Polly, as if stunned with the suddenness 
of the shock, as if petrified by the apparition of the husband so long 
mourned and in whose loss she had steadily refused quite to believe. 
She stood white-faced, wide-eyed, with her beautiful dark hair fram- 
ing that center of life in the fire-lighted room for a full minute, and 
then sank unconscious upon the hearth-rug. 

Joy and anxiety were mingled in the hours, days and weeks fol- 
lowing, when the wife tossed in delirium and neighbors and family 
vied with each other in efforts to restore her and to coax back the 
dauntless spirit whom all loved so well. Through all these weeks, at 
first timidly and remorsefully, had Pelatiah Beach added his services 
in caring for the stricken woman, gradually assuming the direction 



A Mystery of the Bagaduce 7 

of all the affairs dropped from those capable little hands, now rest- 
lessly moving in fever, or lying helpless in weakness. But youth and 
strength conquered, and when spring was giving place to summer, 
Mistress Polly at last stood again in her doorway, looking out upon 
the dear home scene and the river, always her chiefest delight. Never 
in her freshest girlhood had I\Iistress Polly been so beautiful as now, 
never had she looked as at that moment to the two men who hastened 
up the pathway toward her. 

"We are most pleased to see you. Master Powers. Tie your 
horse at the post and sup with us. And, Husband," smiled Mistress 
Polly, ' ' I must see how my garden has fared. Please to lead me forth 
in spite of my weakness, — and do j^ou promise before our neighbor, 
Mrs. Veazie, and before the Reverend Mr. Powers also, that never 
again shall I be left without a husband and protector." 

"Dear Avife," replied the Master, "I swear it before these 
friends ! ' ' 

"Ah!" exclaimed the Rev. Jonathan Powers, "again are you pro- 
nounced man and wife, and I will add my blessing to that given yovi 
ten years ago. May you spend a long and happy season here by the 
banks of this pleasant stream." 

They visited the quaint garden which seemed to have suffered no 
neglect during the owner's illness; for the currants and gooseberries 
showed green and fresh and held up abundance of forming fruit; the 
hollyhocks were pushing up rank and bold in their bed at the corner 
of the rugged log house, while in the beds by the path, love-in-a-mist, 
youth-and-old-age, and pretty-by-nights vied with each other and 
with the little heartsease and ladies' delights. 

At evening when their friend, the parson, had departed for his 
ride down to the Neck, husband and wife stood watching his depart- 
ure and the beautiful scene before them, happy, united at last and 
looking into the long future. Over the Narrows hung the low wax- 
ing summer moon, just turning from silver to gold, and trailing its 
long reliection even to the hither shore below their farm. The bloom 
and sweetness of the tardy summer were at last in their fullness over 
everything, and the call of the nesting loons in a reedy marsh far 
away by the opposite river bank sounded lone and weird yet so famil- 
iar, wild and full of the suggestion of home and nest! It was 
the fullness of summer in these two human lives, also — Pelatiah 
Beach recently a homeless wanderer but now home-encircled, and by 
his side the sweetest and most beautiful little heroine of the country- 
side! 

"I shall build a new house by yonder orchard, more fitting than 
this for you, dear wife," said Beach. "For weeks I have been plan- 
ning it. It shall face the river and the highway like this, bvit higher 
upon the hillside, and it shall be the best in the region. There we 
shall remove and set up all your household treasures and many more, 



8 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

and the children shall be as proud of their home as of their beautiful 
mother. All the roots and shrubs of your garden shall be trans- 
planted by the new house and, please God, we shall live there long 
together. ' ' 

The master's words were fulfilled and "New House" with its 
barns and stables soon rose, facing the river, a house large and pre- 
tentious for the place and times, with wide fireplaces in kitchen and 
living room, white-sanded floors, small-paned, low windows and rude 
furnishing, varied here and there by pieces of finer make, brought 
from Boston by oft-coming ships. On the narrow mantel above the 
fireplace of the living room stood two small pictures on glass, set off 
with gilt and flanked with the pink-lipped conches brought by West 
Indian traders, and on the nearby wall hung a mirror with cable pat- 
tern frame in the upper section of which was set the picture of a ship 
in full sail. A corner cupboard stood in an angle of the room, dis- 
playing a fine array of pewter with a few rarer pieces of India china 
brought from over-seas. A piece of framed shell work hung over the 
master's mahogany "secretary" and against another wall stood a tall 
chest of drawers, also of solid mahogany, v/hile at one side of the 
fireplace a high backed settle added the last touch to this quaint in- 
terior. Over this establishment ruled Mistress Mar}^ Beach and her 
husband — "The Major" as he came to be universally^ called, from his 
connection with the neighborhood militia. 

* * * 

Master Beach of former years had been a sturdy and reliable 
young farmer; but "The Major" became the leading business man 
and authority of the town of Penobscot, incorporated in 1787 from 
ancient Pentagoet, — a man looked up to, honored, but feared by some 
and a puzzle to many. How changed from himself of former years ! 
His manner had become that of a man of the world, and it much per- 
plexed his simple country neighbors. Even his speech had changed, 
and tones never heard before entered into it. 

"Why," said Capt. Bardwell, "if I didn't know 'twas Pel Beach, 
I'd think another man had come back in his skin." 

"His very skin is changed," declared Mistress Bardwell in re- 
sponse. "Who ever heard before of black hair turning red?" 

Indeed, since his return, the Major's hair had always shown 
streaks of dark auburn and reddish glints which even his wife did 
not recall in his youth, that wavy and beautiful hair which remained 
always abundant and glossy and lent a physical charm to the 
Major's otherwise rugged and stern face. 

The months passed and the years, but never could the Major be 
persuaded to reveal the particulars of his wanderings nor even in 
what lands he had spent the period of his absence. Any inquiry on 
the subject seemed to provoke his wrath and suspicion. A passion- 
ately loving and hating soul, a keen business man and honored with 






Bagaduce Narrows from "The Eddys" 




Warm Cove— part of the Major's Farm 




Mills Point Along the Bagaduce 



A Mystery of the Bagaduce 9 

the highest local posts of trust and responsibility, he ever remained 
a mystery to those about him. Even "New House" wore an air of 
secrecy and his shrewd countrymen sometimes hinted that the Major 
came not home empty-handed, even though an English prison had 
bound him during his stay abroad. 

« # « 

Of a Sabbath morning when the Major and Mistress Beach 
walked out to hear the Rev. Jonathan Powers preach at the church 
on the hill, an air of poise and distinction separated them from others 
of the congregation. The Major's commanding mien, his skirted 
coat, knee breeches, buckled shoes and powdered hair tied with black 
ribbon, savored more of the town than of the farm, while beside him 
Mistress Mary, in dove-colored crape gown, lace tucker, silk mantle 
and white bonnet with ostrich plumes, was acknowledged the hand- 
somest woman along The Bagaduce. 

But, as years passed, the Major's peculiarities were accentuated 
and the distrust which a few had expressed, even as to his identity, 
grew acute. 

"Strange," said Capt. Whitney at the Neck, "that Major Beach 
knows the harbor of Martinique better than I recalled it during our 
recent conversation, and, too, he chanced to mention the Goodwin 
Sands as if he knew the navigation of the Thames equally well. He 
must have travelled much between his release from an English 
prison and his return home! Yes, passing strange!" 

"The new Pelatiah Beach is ten times the man he was before he 
saw something of the world ; but why will he never speak of his im- 
prisonment, his escape or his many experiences?" quoth the Rev. 
Mr. Powers. 

"He's not Pel Beach, but another man in his shoes," said Uncle 
Bill Hutchins. 

"The Major bargained with the Devil for his freedom and some- 
times the Devil gets him," declared Nat Rhoads, the innocent of the 
hamlet whose sayings, however, sometimes had the strange and un- 
canny force of truth. 

Even his wife sighed often and said that the Major's hardships 
in prison had rendered him flighty and irascible, almost like another 
man at times; but she always ended by pointing to a tiny miniature 
of herself in her bridal dress, painted at New Falmouth by a wander- 
ing artist and declaring that the picture proved his truth and devo- 
tion, for it was carried in his pockets during his long absence and it 
was the only treasure that he brought home. 

"He stole it from the otJier Pel Beach!" declared blunt Mrs. 
Veazie who hated the ]\Iajor cordially for cursing her trespassing 
cattle. This half-told, half -hinted story, never wholly died away in 
the years when his family grew up, married and settled about the 



10 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

town and the happenings of Revolutionary days became but fireside 
reminiscences of the older citizens. 

# « # 

No longer was it June but it was harvest time along The Baga- 
duce and the first frosts had glorified the maples and oaks and lined 
the roadsides with purple asters. The harvest moon shone full on 
the front of "New Plouse" and, solemn and unrebuked, looked into 
the windows of the low living room upon the last of the Major's 
nights above the sods of his hillside farm. He lay stark and quiet 
in his coffin and by his side stood Mistress Beach, candle in hand, 
taking a quiet farewell of the husband loved and honored so well. 
She stood, still straight and lithe and alert, beauty hardly dimmed in 
her grief-blanched face, her eyes still gloriously dark and overarched 
by brows a painter might love to copy, her dark hair, despite her 
fifty-five years, wavy and beautiful. The touch of frost on the tem- 
ples after all, was only a touch, glorifying the face which the harvest 
moon caressed. 

Great-grandmother Beach placed her palm softly upon the cold 
hands which never before had failed to respond to hers, and silently 
thanked God for her life with this strong, stern lover. In a moment 
she reviewed very much of all those years, but she thought especially 
of that long absence and of the return that at times seemed, even to 
her, to be the coming of a dilferent man and the beginning of her 
own love-life and his. Was there still a doubt in her mind that he 
really ivas the husband of her youth, or his double come to take his 
place and a far greater place in her life and the world's? She 
stretched out her hand to push back the heavy hair, lately showing 
gray upon his temples and concealed in which he had in his youth 
laughingly shown her a dark birthmark which he said would identify 
him, living or dead. But great-grandmother Beach cast aside in 
scorn her own lingering doubt even in the act of removing it by 
proof. She laid her hand gently, for an instant, on those thick gray 
locks, then slowly turned to gaze across the moonlit fields to the open 
grave awaiting the master by the side of the little lad — the child of 
their later union — who had gleefully laughed through three years of 
adorable babyhood and then been laid in the family burying ground 

on the river bank. 

* * * 

The summer of her life and love was over even to the harvest and 
frosts of death. Though great-grandmother Beach lived on for 
twenty years, calmly and nobly, in the larger sense her life ended 
when the stern, sin-scarred and irascible soul of Pelatiah Beach went 
to its last accounting. 

For a century Major Beach has slept h's quiet sleep on the hill- 
side overlooking the Narrows and the Upper Bagaduce. For nearly 
as long his wife, Mary, has slept by his side — an hundred years with 



A Mystery of the Bagaduce 11 

their early December darkness and snows; an hundred years with 
their lingering winters, broken by the brave little song of the chick- 
adee and the tardy south wind creeping over the ocean and upon the 
icy shores of New England; an hundred Junes with their sudden sur- 
prise of bloom and glow and gladness, the low summer moon reflect- 
ing in the quiet waters, and the cry of the nesting loons echoing afar 
from the reedy marsh by the river bank ; an hundred Septembers 
with their fruitage and the sweet odors of orchard and meadow and 
cornfield, the early flame on the maples and the spike of ladies' 
tresses over the mown fields where the tang of autumn is felt even 
while summer lingers; an hundred years and the mystery in the 
lives of the tenants of those low green houses has never been solved ! 

Still stands, -higher upon the hillside, "New House" which was 
their home — staunch and sturdy — still a home with the open doors 
of hospitality and neighborliness, still welcoming back each summer 
the fifth generation of the descendants of Pelatiah Beach. 

On a bright, cool September morning of 1915, the Major's great- 
granddaughter sat before his desk of mellow old mahogany, sat in 
the Major's solid arm-chair, fingering the knobs and handles of that 
old desk, familiar to her from earliest childhood but never quite 
losing its awe-inspiring aspect. She glanced from the windows out 
over the hillside and across the river, musing of those old days when 
great-grandfather was young and had been carried off by the Red- 
coats; of when he had looked out upon this same scene or had sat on 
the same spot, quill in hand and intent on public or private business. 

Suddenly her attention was drawn to the fact that one little 
drawer, just pulled out, seemed a bit more shallow than its face 
would indicate, and pressing the bottom of that drawer, she found 
that it slipped back easily, disclosing a second bottom and between 
them a shallow space only an eighth of an inch deep, but containing 
a neatly folded sheet, yellowed with age, yet otherwise as if just 
sealed and laid there. She took it up wonderingly and found on its 
outer fold, in the neat but bold hand familiar from her perusal of 
many of the Penobscot town records as the writing of Major Beach, 
these words: 

"When I am dead, for the eyes of my wife, Mary 
Beach," and in addition, — "What I never could tell 
you — but I know that your love is great and that you 
will forgive both my sins and my silence — Pelatiah 
Beach." 

That was all and a date just an hundred years before. Turning 
the folded paper, she found it still sealed with the bit of red wax as 
the Major had left it. 

The Major's secret, the mystery of his life, lay in her hand, super- 
scribed, "For the eyes of my wife." It was not possible that the 



12 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

crevice had been unknown to great-grandmother Beach. It was not 
probable that she had never discovered the paper and read its in- 
scription, but she must have postponed or repudiated the act of un- 
covering what her husband had all his life hidden from her. Per- 
haps she had postponed it from time to time until death had come to 

tell her all — or nothing! 

* * * 

The wax crackled under the pressure of the fingers holding it, but 
it was still guarding the Major's message to his wife ! "For the eyes 
of my wife," whispered that wife's great-granddaughter; and she 
dropped the paper, still unopened, into the brisk blaze on the hearth 
beside which the Major and Mistress Polly had spent so many even- 
ings in the far-away past. 

The tale of that man's wanderings, of his sins or perchance his 
crime, would never be knowm. It would remain forever a mystery 
of The Bagaduce. 



THE WOOING OF MISTRESS POLLY: A ROMANCE 
OF THE BOXER AND ENTERPRISE 




The Wooing of Mistress Polly: A Romance 
of the Boxer and Enterprise 

By ELLA MATTHEWS BANGS 

VERLOOKING the flashing blue of a bay, emerald-gem- 
med by clustering islands, stands a fair New England 
city. The harbor pulsates with the life of ocean 
steamer and coast-wise craft, of coal barges, fishing and 
pleasure boats of endless variety, and occasionally with 
the more imposing ships of war, part of the country's 
navy. Summer cottages dot the island and Cape 
shores, while among the throng of busy workers, or more leisurely 
tourists, there mingle, not infrequently, uniformed men from the 
forts protecting the harbor and city. 

The town itself adds to its natural beauty of situation, with ocean 
outlook and mountain background, the prosperous air of a modern 
city, but, as in fancy. Time, the Necromancer, turns backward for us 
his pages, marvelous changes take place before our eyes. The har- 
bor grows quiet, only now and then a white sail catches the breeze 
or the paddles of a dory flash in the sunshine. Gone are the attractive 
residences of nearby islands which now rise green-clad in their prime- 
val freshness, broken only here and there by an unpretentious farm 
house and visited but occasionally by pickniekers or land survej^ors. 
Gone are the warehouses along the water front, wharfs and piers are 
gone with them, giving place to sloping banks of green; gone, too, 
the towering business blocks. The bold promontory of White tiead 
stands out its own defender, while Forts Williams, McKinley and 
Levett are undrempt of and the sea-farers' guiding Light at Portland 
Head, the first to be erected upon the New England coast, has only 
within the last decade flashed over the dark waters of the ]3ay. 

Forts Preble and Scammel, indeed, are here, the former but newly 
completed, while in place of the Fort Scammel of our own days stands 
an unfamiliar but picturesque blockhouse, octagonal, built entirely of 
timber, its eight sides meeting in a pointed roof. On the low, up- 
right, center timber of the roof .stands a carved eagle, also of wood, 
with extended wings. Each of the eight sides of the blockhouse dis- 
plays an embrasure, or port hole, and a gun. The upper story, which 
projects two or three feet beyond the lower, contains the battery. 
The buildings, including blockhouse and barracks, are clapboarded 
and their white-painted sides glisten in the sunshine, and all, en- 
closed in an earthem rampart, present a quaint picture in green and 
white. 



16 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

In the town swift electrics give place to cars drawn by horses, then, 
as still backward the pages turn, these disappear and a lumbering 
stagecoach provides the only means of travel upon the public high- 
way, while through the sparsely settled streets and lanes of the city, 
now shrunken to a little town, pedestrians make their way over un- 
paved walks, for few are so fortunate as to own a private carriage. 

As still the pages turn, let us pause at one written over with 
events of the early years of the nineteenth century, for it is here that 
our story begins. 

* * ;;< 

The year was 1813 ; the month was June. It was June as well in 
the hearts of two young people whom we see, one a stalwart young 
man with clear, blue eyes and cb,eeks tanned to deeper tints than 
Nature selected, as he stood waiting at the end of a box-bordered 
walk leading to the street from the residence of a well-to-do citizen 
of little Portland. Down this walk came tripping the second figure, 
slim and girlish, in a white gown, scant of skirt and short of waist. 
The crimson border of the mantle over her shoulders repeated its 
color in her cheeks, while a fetching little curl of dark hair fell out 
on either side the round face from within the confines of the twilled, 
silk bonnet. 

One could not wonder that the blue eyes down by the gate 
watched the winsome figure with undisguised pleasure, and his own 
face was far from displeasing as he greeted her with, 

"Good day to you, Mistress Polly. How uncommonly in luck I 
am to be passed here at just this minute. And where might you be 
going, may I ask?" 

The white gowned figure courtesied in mock obeisance. ' ' I might 
ask the same question of you, Master Brian," she returned, "though 
in truth, you seem in no great haste to be going anywhere." 

"As to that," the other began, "the answer to your question 
might answer mine, as well, for I am minded to walk along with you, 
an' you do not object." 

"Well, then, I am going a-shopping, and that will suit you well, 
I'm thinking," with a laughing glance from her dark eyes. 

"Shopping, is it?" with feigned dismay. 

" 'Tis so," with a nod, "an' you must know, I am about to go on 
a journey." 

' ' A journey ? " in surprise. ' * And where, pray ? ' ' 

"Only up to Portsmouth." 

As a matter of fact, Polly Freeman in all her eighteen years, had 
never been so far from home as Portsmouth, but she referred to it 
now as to an every day occurrence. 

"You have relations there?" the young man inquired. 

"An aunt and cousins. They think it high time for us to be 
acquainted." 



^^»*"^\<^^"^(iS^Spi.^ 




Fort Scammell, Portland Harbor, as it is Today 




Fort Preble, Portland Harbor 



The Wooing of Mistress Polly 17 

"Will you go by land, or water?" 

"Mercy sakes ! You don't think I'd go by water I hope, with the 
British likely to capture us at any minute ! Oh, no, I go by stage- 
coach, and the day after tomorrow, if all goes well." 

For a little they walked on in silence, then, after several hesitat- 
ing glances at the girl, the young man spoke. 

"You know, Polly, — you recollect — that years ago we — we said 
we'd be married when we grew up. I've not spoken before, but 
now — " 

Here, however, the girl interrupted. "It surprises me greatly, 
Brian Oxnard, to know that you remember anything so foolish, I — 
I had nigh forgot it; for of course, it means nothing now." 

"Means nothing — now? Polly, do you think — that?" 

The color in the girl's cheeks deepened, but she returned airily, 

"Of a truth, why not?" 

"But — but Polly," in boyish confusion, "let's forget that then, 
if it suits you, and begin all over again. Will you?" 

Polly lifted her head with a proud little toss but her face was 
averted as she returned, "They say there be a many fine gallants in 
Portsmouth town, I cannot promise — anybody — till I've seen a few 
of them." 

Then with another mocking courtesy she turned, and entered the 
shop where her errand was to be done. 

Brian looked after her a moment, a hurt look in his eyes, then 
with uplifted head, and a new, firm look about his mouth, he went 
his way. 

In due time Polly's little hair trunk, with her initials, P. F., in 
brass-headed nails, was lifted to the stage coach, and without seeing 

Brian again, she started on her journey to Portsmouth. 

* * * 

Meantime, on land and sea the War of 1812 was in progress. 
Privateers from Portland and other ports were taking prizes in the 
shape of British brigs, sloops-of-war, and other craft. So while there 
were many failures among the land troops, and the American seamen 
were not always victorious, their many important captures caused 
their gallantry to become a theme of admiration wherever a group of 
men was found, in the bar-room at Marston's tavern, in the grocery 
stores, or around the family hearthstone. 

Had not Capt. Lawrence on the preceding February, while in 
command of the sloop-of-war Hornet, encountered the British brig 
Peacock, off the coast of Guiana, and in fifteen minutes compelled her 
to strike her colors? And then all deplored the untimely death of 
the brave, young officer, Lawrence, who, after returning to the United 
States and being promoted to commander of the frigate Chespeake 
then in Boston harbor, had felt it his duty, despite the fact of an ill 
assorted crew and imperfect equipments, to go out to meet the British 
frigate Shannon which was in the best of condition, and had thereby 



18 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

received his death wound, but had immortalized himself by his dying 
injunction to his men, — "Don't give up the ship." 

Oh, yes, of bravery there was plenty, while Portland was again 
and again agitated by the danger threatened in seeming reality, or 
more often in excited fancy, that a British fleet was heading for this 
port. 

The Portland Committee of Safety had received word from the 
Secretary of the Navy, that the Enterprise with the brig Syren had 
been ordered here in May "for the protection of the coast in the 
neighborhood." The Syren, however, did not show herself, and it 
was not until the 13th of June that the Enterprise came into the har- 
bor, and soon after this she was ordered to Portsmouth, and her 
commander, Captain Blaliely, sent to the lakes. 

Polly Freeman returned from visiting her Portsmouth relations 
during the last of July, and it was perhaps a week later that she 
observed casually to her friend, Ruth Ilsley, ^'By the way, what has 
become of Brian Oxnard ? I haven 't seen him since I came home. ' ' 

"No, nor are you likes to," her friend replied. "He shipped 
a-board the brig Enterprise when she was here in June." 

"Shipped — in June? Why, it was June when I went away." 

"So 'twas, and 'twas June, too, when the Enterprise come a-sail- 
ing into the bay, and pretty soon sailed out again, but, meantime, 
more than one young man o' the town had time to join her crew. 
Besides Brian there's John Vaughan and Sam Merrill^ and — " 

But Polly heard no more. She was thinking only of Brian, and 
the look in his eyes when she saw him last. Supposing it were the 
last time she was ever to see him ! 

The daj's went on and it was the last of August when looking one 
morning from her window, Polly saw her father in earnest conversa- 
tion with a neighbor, and as the man went on, she ran down stairs, 
meeting her fatlier in the long hall running through the house. 

''Any news, daddy?" she inquired. 

"Well, Sawyer was just telling me that 'tis said the British 
privateer is making more trouble along the coast." 

"What is she? What has happened?" the girl asked eagerly, as 
she clasped her hands over her father's coat sleeve. 

"She's the brig Boxer." was the answer, "and news comes tliat 
on the fourth o' this month, — a week ago, she captured the schooner 
Industry o' Marblehead, and has sailed with her for St. John." 

"Where was the capture made?" 

"Down by the mouth o' the Sheepscot, 'tis said. That Boxer has 
been pestering of us long enough, to my thinking. 'Tis time we give 
her some o' her own medicine." 

"And is there no privateer of our own to go out to meet her?" 

It was Mrs. Freeman who thus asked, coming up to wliere her 
husband and daughter were standing. 



The Wooing of Mistress Polly 19 

The man turned to her with a .shake of his head. "Nauglit at 
present, but 'tis hoped a vessel will be ordered here soon." 

As he was speaking, little Olive and Robert, Polly's young sister 
and brother came near, to find what the older ones were saying, but 
hearing nothing of interest to them, went running off again. 

The hope expressed by Freeman was realized ; for on the last day 
of August a brig came into the harbor in search of the troublesome 
privateer of the British. The first news Polly had of this was on the 
following day when her friend Ruth came in to see her. 

"Have you heard that the Enterprise is in our harbor again?" she 
asked almost in the same breath as that in which she greeted her. 

"The Enterprise—" Polly repeated, "why that—" 

"Yes, that's the vessel our bovs are aboard, John, and Brian and 
Sam." 

"Will they come ashore, do you think?" 

Ruth shook her blond head. "Nobody knows," she declared. 

Everybody felt easier to know that a brig for defense was in the 
harbor, and that this was the Enterprise was satisfactory, too, as 
Portland boys were among her crew. Since the last visit of this 
vessel to this port, she had changed commanders, and it was now 
Captain William Burrows who was in command. 

On Saturday morning, the 4th day of September, a fisherman 
arrived in the harbor, bringing a report which ran through the town 
like wild fire. With their own eyes they had seen, dov,n by the 
mouth of the Kennebec, the British privateer Boxer fire upon the 
American brig Margaretta. All was excitement, indeed little was 
needed to bring the populace of this, as well as other towns, to the 
point where they could no longer refrain from some act of retalia- 
tion, for, since the capture of the Chesapeake, public opinion could 
not forgive Captain Broke of the Shannon for drawing out the Chesa- 
peake before she was prepared, and for the consequent death of her 
commander. As soon, therefore, as the news brought by the fishing 
vessel became known, the Enterprise prepared for immediate depart- 
ure in search of the offending Boxer. 

The southerly wind was light on this September morning, and 
being flood tide the brig could not sail out between the forts. 
Throughout the town there was more or loss anxiety and excitement. 

"Come, Polly," called Ruth putting her sun-bonneted head in at 
the Freeman doorway. "Everybody's going to see the Enterprise 
sail out to meet the foe. Hurry — don't wait for anything." 

Polly glanced at her mother, but so far out of the common course 
of events were affairs moving just now, that Mrs. Freeman merely 
nodded assent to what at another time she might have considered 
hardly a proper or becoming thing for her daughter to be allowed 
to do. 

"Where are we going?" Polly asked as the two girls started out. 



20 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

"Up to the old fort on the hill," Ruth answered. 

So up to the green pastures lying around and beyond the Ob- 
servatory, the girls hastened, by no means the only ones going in the 
same direction. The Enterprise was sailing again, and this time to 
battle — and — she had not seen Brian. 

Once arrived at the lookout they had chosen, the girls saw the 
brig already underway, her sails spread, and running down toward 
Spring Point. Eagerly all watched her till suddenly a man ex- 
claimed : 

' ' Golly ! What 'd I tell ye ? She can 't stem the tide ! ' ' 

It was true as the man had stated ; for the Enterprise in chang- 
ing her course, found herself unable to stem the tide now running 
full against her. The little crowd waited in wondering suspense 
when another voice called out: 

"Look! Look!" 

And look they did, hardly believing what they saw, for as if by 
magic, every one of the brig's boats dropped into the water full of 
men, and arranged themselves in a line ahead of the brig, and towed 
her out until clear of the land. The interested spectators heard the 
rousing songs of the men, and answered by hearty cheers, while the 
boats again disappeared, and the Enterprise bore out and away 
toward Seguin; and to — what? 

Polly was not the only one whose sleep that night was disturbed 
by dreams of cannon shot, and bursting shells, and Sabbath morning 
found the little town early astir, and thrilling with excitement. That 
a battle was to take place between the Enterprise and her enemy, the 
Boxer, none doubted, and at an early hour people began to gather 
at the Observatory, the highest point in Portland ; for from here, the 
morning being clear, Captain Moody could with his glass sweep the 
bay as far down as the point of Seguin, and the open water beyond. 

Only a few friends were admitted to the tower; the remainder 
waited below eager for any word which might come to them from 
Captain Moody, and when the first communication was received, a 
cheer went up from the anxious crowd, notwithstanding the fact that 
it was the Sabbath day. 

The message which had come was that Captain Moody could see 
the smoke of the Boxer's challenge-gun, and that of the Enterprise 
accepting it. 

As for Polly Freeman, how she longed to join the crowd up by the 
Observatory, but she dared not hint such a thing as going, knowing 
only too well how emphatically it would be denied her by her father 
and mother. So she sat through the parson 's long sermon, though it 
is to be feared she was little benefitted by the discourse, and even her 
father started occasionally, and half turned at the sound of some- 
thing going on in the street outside. 



The Wooing of Mistress Polly 21 

The service ended at last, and it was a relief to be out of doors 
at least. Going toward home her father said: 

"I reckon I'll rim up to the hill and see if anything 's been 
heard." 

"Oh, father, can I go too?" Polly's eager voice broke in. 

Her mother turned to her. "Fie, child," she exclaimed, "why 
should you go! 'Tis doubtful if they've heard anything, and if they 
have, your father '11 come and tell us." 

So again there was nothing but to wait, while out on the Bay a 
battle was going on, and Brian was there. He might even now be 
wounded, he might be — but she would not, could not, let her thoughts 
go beyond that. Surely she would see him again, just once, at least, 
to tell him that she was but teazing that last day the}^ spoke together ; 
for it did mean something to her, that old promise, and she had been 
waiting, hoping he might speak of it. 

Meantime from the Observatory on the hill there was little to be 
learned. According to Captain Moody's report, it was several hours 
before the Enterprise obtained sea-room, and ceased maneuvering 
for an advantageous position. Believing the battle over, the crowd 
began to disperse when the keeper of the tower announced that he 
saw the smoke of guns. The tight had begun, but the engaging brigs 
were beyond his range of vision. 

Through the long night hours, wives, mothers, sisters and sweet- 
hearts waited, dreading the news that morning might bring, but eager 
for the first word to tell of what had taken place out forty miles from 
the harbor, and too great a distance for the sound of booming guns 
to reach. Daylight crept over the town and the sparkling bay, and 
still no news; then, at last from his observation Captain Moody dis- 
cerned a speck on the horizon, — it grew larger, and then the glorious 
news spread in a wave of excitement over the waiting town, — he sig- 
nalled the victorious Enterprise sailing into the harbor and leading 
her prize under the same flag ! Up they came to Union wharf, where 
all who wished were at liberty to go aboard. 

There was great rejoicing throughout the town, people could talk 
of nothing else, and some who had not spoken together for years, now 
met and shook hands in mutual congratulations. In the midst of 
this exultation came the knowledge that the victory had been at the 
same time a tragedy, for both young commanders had lost their lives, 
and each wrapped in his own flag knew nothing of the excitement 
attending their arrival in the harbor. 

When Mr. Freeman returned from his visit to the wharf, Polly, a 
little of the usual bright color gone from her cheeks, met him at the 
door. 

"What — what have you heard?" she asked breathlessly. 

"I've heard and seen considerable," he returned with trying de- 
liberation. "The Boxer is pretty well cut up, for a fact, hull and 



22 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

rigging, and on one side of her I could reach as many as two shot 
holes wherever I stretched out my arms." 

"And is it true that both Captains are killed?" asked Mrs. Free- 
man. 

"Ay, poor fellows, both dead. Captain Blyth o' the Boxer killed 
instantly, by an eighteen pound shot. Captain Burrows lived eight 
hours after his hurt, and as nigh as we can make out, the men o' 
both crews had reason to be proud o' their commanders." 

Tears were in the eyes of both mother and daughter, and after a 
moment's pause, Polly faltered another inquiry. 

"The crew — was — was any hurt of them?" 

The man nodded. "Ay, though but a few on our side, mar- 
velously few. One, Waters, his name is, from Georgetown near 
Washington, has a mortal hurt, so they say, and ten or a dozen more 
or less wounded. ' ' 

"Any of them from — here?" Polly's lips could hardly form the 
words. 

"Yes, so I hear, but there's so many rumors fllying 'round I 
don't feel certain whether 'tis John, or Brian, or both." 

"Brian wounded — more or less seriously." The words seemed to 
repeat themselves in the girl's ears till she could hear nothing else. 

Meantime the whole town was buzzing with excitement and pride 
in the gallant Enterprise, with lamentations for the dead Captains — • 
one as brave as the other as could but be admitted — and with eager 
attention to the wounded. Many and varied were the accounts of the 
battle, and few, perhaps, had a clear idea of just what had taken 
place out beyond the range of Captain Moody's glass, until the fol- 
lowing official account appeared in the Portland Gazette of Septem- 
ber 13th, 1813. 

Gallant Naval Action and Victory. 

"On Monday last, 6th inst., anchored in this harbor, the U. S. brig 
Enterprise (late William Burrows, commander), accompanied by H. 
B. M. Brig Boxer (late Captain Samuel Blyth, commanded), her 
prize, captured on the 5th inst. after a well fought action of 45 
minutes. The following particulars of the engagement are given by 
the Officers of the Enterprise : 

"Sept. 5th, at 5 a.m. light winds from N. N. W. Pemaquid bear- 
ing North 8 miles distant, saw a brig at anchor in shore, and made 
sail on a wind, with the larboard tacks on board. At half past 7, 
the brig weighed and fired 3 shots at a fishing boat, for the purpose 
of ascertaining what we were (as we have since learnt). At half 
past 8 the brig fired a shot as a challenge, and hoisted three English 
Ensigns, and immediately bore up for us. At 9 we tacked, kept 
away South and prepared for action. At half past 9 it fell calm, 
the enemy bearing N. N. W. distant four miles. At half past 11 a 



The Wooing of Mistress Polly 23 

breeze sprung up from S. W. which gave us the weather gauge, we 
manoeuvred to the windward, until 2 p.m. we shortened sail, hoisted 
3 ensigns and fired a shot at the enemy. At 3 p.m. tacked and bore 
up for the enemy, taking him to be one of H. M.'s brigs of the largest 
size. At quarter past 3, the enemy being within half pistol shot, gave 
three cheers and commenced the action by firing her starboard broad- 
side, when the action became general. At 20 minutes past 3 p.m. our 
brave commander fell, and while lying on deck, refused to be car- 
ried below, raised his head and requested iliat tJie flag might never 
he struck. At half past 3 we ranged ahead of the enem.y, fired our 
stern chaser, rounded to on the starboard tack and raked him with 
our starboard broadside. At 35 minutes past 3 the enemy's main 
topmast and topsail came down. We then set the foresail and took 
a position on his starboard bow and continued to rake him until 45 
minutes past 3, when he ceased firing and cried for quarter; saying 
that as their colors were nailed they could not haul them down. 

"We then took possession of the brig which proved to be H. B. 
M.'s brig, Boxer. 

"Sixty-four prisoners were taken, including 17 wounded. The 
number of the enemy killed cannot be exactly ascertained as many 
were hove overboard before we took possession, Capt. Blyth being 
one of the slain who fell in the early part of the action. 

"When the sword of the vanquished enemy was presented to the 
dying conqueror he clasped his hands and said, '1 am satisfied, 1 die 
contented.' And then consented, nor till then would he consent, to 
be carried below. 

"The Enterprise had two men killed and 12 wounded in the 
action; among the latter were her Commander, who expired on the 
night following, and midshipman Waters, supposed mortally. 

"The brave BURHOWS was wounded in the early part of the 
engagement and command devolved on Lt. M'Call; the result of 
the action furnishes an eulogium upon the skill and bravery of the 
officers and crew of the Enterprise, highly honorable to themselves 
and country. 

"The two vessels suffered much in the action, but the injury 
done to the Boxer was incomparably the greatest, & shows that the 
fire of the Americans was much superior to that of the English. The 
Boxer had her main and fore-top mast shot away; her rigging and 
sails cut to pieces, and received a great deal of damage in her hull." 

As to Brian Oxnard, he was indeed, one of the twelve men 
wounded in action, and inquiry brought out the fact that while not 
dangerously^ he was painfully injured, and would not be able to see 
his friends for several days at least. 

Great preparations were in progress for appropriate services for 
the two brave young Captains, neither of whom had seen thirty 



24 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

years. Little else was thought or spoken of throughout the town, 
while from the neighboring towns and villages, people flocked in to 
see this unusual spectacle, for never before had Portland witnessed so 
imposing a scene. From early morning the spectators came, on 
horseback, on foot and often by ox team, while the Portland Gazette 
gave to all who were not so fortunate as to be present, a graphic 
account of the last honors paid to these naval heroes, in the follow- 
ing notice : 

Funeral Honors. 

The remains of the intrepid and gallant William Burrows, 
late commander of the U. S. brig Enterprise, and his brave 
competitor, Samuel Blyth, late commander of His B. M. brig 
Boxer, were buried in this town on Wednesday last, with mili- 
tary and civic honors. The procession was formed in front of 
the Court-House, at 9 o'clock a.m. under the direction of Robert 
Ilsley and Levi Cutter, Esq., assisted by twelve Marshals, and 
proceeded under escort of the Portland Rifle Company, Capt. 
Shaw's Infantry & Capt. Smith's Mechanic Blues — the whole 
commanded by Captain Abel Atherton — to the lower end of 
Union Wharf, where the corpses were landed from each vessel, 
from barges, rowed at minute strokes, by ship master and mates, 
accompanied by many other barges and boats. During the ap- 
proach of the barges from the vessels to the shore, solemn music 
was performed by a full band, and minute guns were fired alter- 
nately from each vessel. 

The long procession was formed of State, county and town offi- 
cers, Military escort, the clergy. Navy agent, and various other 
organizations, with the remains of the two Captains each followed 
by its officers as mourners, and its crews, as well as many citizens, 
and as it slowly wound its way from the wharf to Middle Street, 
and the Meetinghouse of the Second Parish, great crowds of people 
lined the streets, gathered on the tops of buildings, or looked from 
windows and doorways, as the imposing parade passed along. 
Ware house and shops were closed, bells were tolled and the shipping 
in the harbor wore their colors at half mast, while, as the Gazette 
stated, "The highest degree of order prevailed, and solemn silence 
was kept. The account of the services from the same source of in- 
formation, was as follows : 

"The solemnities of the sanctuary commenced by singing an ap- 
propriate Hymn — the Throne of Grace was then addressed by the 
Rev. Mr. Payson, in a prayer adapted to the melancholy occasion — 
couched in language to command the attention and affect the feel- 
ings of his numerous auditory, and expressive of the feelings and 




o 



The Wooing of Mistress Polly 25 

sentiments of a Christian and Minister of Peace. An Anthem was 
sung by a full choir, and this part of the solemnities was closed with 
a Bendiction. " 

Among the throng which gathered near the newly made graves 
were the five members of the Freeman family, each impressed in his, 
or her own way by the solemn occasion. The burying ground, old 
even at this day, was up on the hill not far from the towering 
Observatory from which the beginning of the battle had been so 
anxiously watched. 

The sunshine of the September day flashed over the lapping 
waters. A soft haze wrapped the more distant islands of the har- 
bor and mountains on the opposite horizon and the solemn sound of 
tolling bells and minute guns alone broke the silence, the guns of 
Forts Preble and Scammel repeating the minute firing of the com- 
panies of Artillery. Following the burial six vollies were discharged, 
three each for the two heroes, the colors were unfurled, music struck 
up, and gradually the spectators surged away leaving the brave, 
j'oung commanders, though enemies in life, yet friends in death, and 
lying side by side in their last resting place, while below, and just 
away, the sea which had been their battle field, sounds a never ceas- 
ing requiem. 

# 4: * 

Coming down from the burying ground, Polly, her tear-stained 
face telling of her emotion, found herself beside . Mrs. Oxnard, 
Brian's mother. 

*'How beautiful and sad it all was," she began. 

The woman nodded, not trusting herself to speak till a moment 
later she said, "When we think there might have been more than 
two — up there," with a backward glance, "how thankful we should 
be — as it is." 

"There is like to be a third," Polly returned in a low voice. 

"Ay, poor Lef tenant Waters, he cannot live, they say." 

"But— Brian?" 

"Brian is waiting all eagerness, I know, for me to tell him all I 
have seen. I would he might have been here, too." 

"He is better— I hear." 

"Oh, yes, much better." 

"Does — is he able to see — his friends?" 

The older woman turned, looking into the other's face. "He will 
be able to see one of his friends about this time tomorrow, I'm think- 
ing," she answered with a smile which deepened the color in Polly's 
cheeks. 

Acting upon this hint, the girl on the following morning found 
herself at the Oxnards' door. She thought she knew just what she 
would say first to Brian, but when she saw him sitting so white and 



26 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

wan, his blue e^'es unusually large and wistful, she forgot all the 

little speech she had prepared, and going toward him with both 

hands outstretched, she cried : 

"Oh, Brian, I didn't mean it — I do remember — " 

A new, eager look came into the white face; he, too, reaches out 

both hands, and — 

But we do not hear his response for Time, the Necromancer who 

has allowed us this glimpse among his backward pages, abruptly 

closes the volume, and we may read no more. 



THE GARDEN OF THE EAST: WISCASSET ON 
SHEEPSCOT BAY 



The Garden of the East: Wiscasset on 
Sheepscot Bay 

By MAUDE CLARK GAY 

Author's Note: In telling this tale of the old town on Sheepscot Bay, I 
am indebted for the historical data to Miss Josie Blagden of Wiscasset, whose 
private scrap book of this "Garden of the East," as the early settlers called it, 
is a veritable wonder box of information; to Bradford C. Redonnett, Register 
of Deeds for Lincoln County, in whose offices are to be found some of the 
oldest deeds on record in the United States; and to the late Rufus King 
Sewall, Historian, who in days long gone related so many interesting stories 
to the little stranger within his gates. For the romance I am indebted only 
to the wonderful charm of the ancient town, whose mystery and magic appeal 
to the very heart, to the sweep of the mist on the meadows, the glittering sheen 
of the river, the rocks on the island shore, and the flutter of gulls across a 
sapphire sky. 

* * * 

TATELY and dignified, with an old-time grace, in the 
midst of quaint gardens, green terraces and bending 
trees, Wiscasset looks always down the broad river to 
the distant sea. Serene in its old age, sweet with a 
scent of rosemary and rue, the town impresses itself on 
the visitor, who is interested in ancient people and by- 
gone days, with a haunting tenderness and charm. 
Many and varied are the stories of those who have lived and loved 
on the shores of the Sheepscot River. The mansions on the winding 
hill could tell strange tales of a century that is past. Through their 
deep-set windows and ivy-hung porticoes, aged women and fair maids 
have peered anxiously down the bay for return of husband, son and 
lover, when the name of Wiscasset was a familiar one on the high 
seas and in the ports of foreign lands. And the crumbling timbers 
of the old wharves, once the center of the business life of the town, 
could recall those same women with wide eyes and blanched cheeks, 
who waited and wept in an agony of suspense, as up the bay sailed 
many a stately vessel, returning from a year's voyage, with her flag 
flying at half mast. To-day the rising and falling tides sweep and 
swirl above those sunken piers of the past and sing a low requiem 
over the shallow graves in which they rest forever. 

The Embargo Act of 1807, which made President Jefferson so un- 
popular with American merchants by forbidding any American ship 
to leave an American port, practically put an end to the town's com- 
merce. Even before this act the Wiscasset shipmasters had tried 
equally hard to keep their distance from either French or English 




30 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

flags, as they were liable to capture by both warring nations. But this 
act, passed in reality to punish England for firing upon and captur- 
ing the American frigate, "Chesapeake," sealed the doom of the Wis- 
easset ships. Tlie war of 1812 finished the sad work, and to this day 
old residents of the town tell of the ruin wrought, and of how Major 
Carlton of the well-known house on the hill, which had always been 
the refuge of the homeless and suffering, walked back and forth in 
his periwig and queue, wringing his hands at sight of forty of his 
own vessels rotting at the once busy wharves. 

But not alone through the perils of the sea did the little hamlet feel 
the thunderings of war. Wiscasset had been settled by George Davis, 
the first pioneer, who came there as early as 1670 and made a home 
in the wilderness. The little settlement numbered a score of families 
before King Philip, Chief of the Wampanoags, ravaged and laid to 
waste the fair country-side. Many of the first settlers were driven from 
their homes and scalped by the Indians; others taken into captivity 
to drag out a horrible existence, while the remainder abandoned the 
hamlet and fled in terror. Once more the settlement became a wil- 
derness. This desolation continued for more than half a century, and 
it was not until 1730 when Robert Hooper, brave and true, with a 
party of his friends sailed up the Sheepscot River, that the eye of 
white man again beheld the beauty of the shore. He built the first log 
hut by the side of a huge boulder on the east side of where Water 
Street now runs. 

Even in those da,ys the settlers were not safe from their savage 
foe. They were more than once obliged to flee to that fort on Garri- 
son Hill, where the Methodist Church now stands — a fitting memorial 
to those brave, sturdy, God-fearing pioneers who were the fathers 
of a noble race. The settlers of the little hamlet knew they were 
never really safe from the cruel vengeance of their foe. An English- 
man named Williamson, a Mr. Adams, James Anderson, and his two 
sons, were victims at this time of a savage ambuscade. On one occa- 
sion the home of Obadiah Albee was attacked by the Indians and his 
young wife killed. She, with true mother-love, had thrown her 
young child into the canoe of a passing fisherman who escaped, sav- 
ing the child's life and his own. The boy grew to manhood, nurtur- 
ing a bitter hate in his heart for him who had killed his mother. 
Years after peace was restored the chief of the Abenakis, perpetrator 
of the foul deed, came to Wiscasset village. Young Albee, who was 
then seventeen, rushed into the street, raised his rifle and shot the 
Indian through the heart. So the young mother was avenged. His 
descendants live in Wiscasset to-day, the former proprietor of the 
Albee House, E. Fred Albee, being in the direct line of his posterity. 

Later, two forts were built, one on Clark's and the other on 
Seavey's Hill, and just outside the village on a rocky eminence, com- 
manding a view of the beautiful stretch of fertile country, stands an 



The Garden of the East 31 

ancient powder house, which is indeed a reminder of days of warfare 
and nights of anxious vigil. It is built of brick, circular in shape, 
with a conical roof, while its sturdy door, studded in every nich by 
bolt and nail, was built to withstand any attack of hatchets or can- 
non. Back of this powder house, like a sentinel always on guard, 
stands the lone pine, "last pine of Sweet Auburn," famous in song 
and story — first glad signal to many a weary sailor returning from a 
long voyage to foreign lands, that home was near. 

* * * 

Although British men-of-war visited the river in 1775 and 1777, 
without doing any harm, a large fort was afterward built on Davis 
Island, about a mile from the town. This consisted of a block house, 
water battery and breast works, built on the south side of the island 
facing the sea. It would seem at first sight that this fort was con- 
structed for defense against the Indians, but this is a fallacy, as it 
was not even built until 1808, and although it was manned for seven 
years, no active service was ever required of its defenders. The 
block house is a most interesting old building, octagonal, overlooking 
all the surrounding country, stretching away in a wonderful pano- 
rama of green and blue and gold, — the white houses of the village, 
half hidden in clustering foliage, the peaceful slope of the hill, the 
glittering waters of the harbor, the farther expanse of road and field 
and meadow, and miles and miles of craggy coast and headland, 
against which the ocean thunders forever and aye. 

In March, 1809, Captain Binney of Hingham, Mass., was assigned 
to command this fort with a company of regulars. Seventeen guns 
were fired to welcome the inauguration of President Madison, and as 
the reverberations echoed along the shores and over the hills to the 
lonely farms on the outskirts of the village, a delicious sense of peace 
and security, that they had not known for many a day, came to the 
people of Wiscasset. Many extracts of public interest may be gath- 
ered from Captain Binney 's private letters, in one of which he 
writes : 

^"Since our arrival here all is well. No want of meat of any kind. 
Vegetables scarce. No fruit here. My men kill me partridges and squirrels 
and catch me fish. Fire wood is plenty and potatoes scarce. I reside in Wis- 
casset, although the fort is on the Edgecomb side of the river, about a mile 
from the house ; the block house not having sufficient quarters I have ob- 
tained permission to sleep out of garrison. I have command at mouth of 
Kennebec River, 26 miles west of Wiscasset and on the Damariscotta, 12 miles 
east. I occasionally visit these posts. My company lias 44 men (more than 
20 deserted) and two lieutenants. Among the men is found every character 
from the whining hypocrite to the professed gambler, many good men and 
many of the laziest of human beings. T have had to confine men in irons be- 
cause they would not cook their victuals, though they had nothing to do but 
cook, sleep, and keep clean." 

^Archives Maine His. Soc. 



32 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

An account is also given of a time when the men of Wiscasset 
were hastily summoned to assist those at the fort, when it was feared 
the British would attack the town. One of the men, named Jonas 
Perkins, who was a great glutton, brought in his knapsack a wonder- 
ful supply of cakes, doughnuts, pies, and other good things of life 
which he devoured without offering a taste to his companions in arms. 
After a few days in camp his devoted wife sent him another consign- 
ment, which proved a great temptation to those comrades whose pro- 
visions had not been replenished; but not a morsel would the cruel 
Jonas give them from out his goodly store. He went apart by himself, 
and, as the chronicler put it, ''ate and ate and ate." Next day there 
came a report, that seemed well verified, that the British were com- 
ing up the river in full force and armed to the teeth. All was com- 
motion. Only Jonas was observed, sitting apart, apparently obliv- 
ious to all the excitement, devouring everything from mince pie to 
caraway cookies with great gusto. When at last it was a physical im- 
possibility to stuff another atom of food inside his stomach, it is said 
he arose with great difficulty and waddling to where his companions 
were gathered, he emptied the bag containing the remainder of his 
carefully hoarded provisions on the ground before them, crying in 
loud tones, ' ' Eat, feller citizens, eat, eat ! Stuff every derned bit of 
pies and cakes inter yer, fer termorrer we shall all be in eternity!" 

In another letter Capt. Binney says, "This town has a meeting- 
house, and Rev. Dr. Packard, Congregationalist, a very good, still, 
quiet, peaceable man, preaches rather too much fire and brimstone, is 
severe in meeting but liberal in company. I am pleased with him. 
There are many 'Stinchfield' Baptists, some Methodists, some 
Quakers, and Catholics, with a large number of Nothingarians." In 
another letter he speaks of Mrs. Binney, his beautiful, young wife 
and the social life of the town. 

"Mrs. Binney is almost daily invited out. The people are polite 
and genteel. We believe Mrs. Binney has been to more tea parties 
since she has been here than for some years in Boston, for in that re- 
spect Wiscasset has the prevailing fashion of Hingham." 

This lovely, young woman, who so well adorned her position in 
society, fell a victim to the terrible fever plague, which claimed as its 
prey so many prominent citizens of Wiscasset in 1812. During its 
prevalence nearly every store in the town was closed, and it is related 
that for over a month a vapor or deep fog obscured the sun here, 
although it shone brightly in the adjoining towns. Night after night 
blazing tar barrels disinfected the air, and the spectre of death and 
despair spread its ghostly arms over the fair village. 

Although Capt. Binney, his beautiful, young wife, and the men of 
his command sailed forth on the sea of eternity a century ago, the old 
fort and its primitive block house still stand, a pathetic reminder 
of ancient days, set in the midst of civilization that has swept on and 




Old Wiscasset Jail 





Samuel Sewall 

From an Old Paintina^i 



The Old Powder House 

iBuilt in 1813' 



The Garden of the East 33 

left it anchored in a quiet harbor of old age. Moss creeps over its 
once frowning walls, green grass covers its brick fortifications, and 
its sightless e3^es watch down the river and over the country-side for 
an enemy long since dead. Rufus King Sewall loved to tell of the 
days when as a lad he played in the underground passageways lead- 
ing from the water battery to the block house, constnicted for use in 
case of dire need. The massive timbers of the gun deck, the heavy, 
nail-spiked door, the shields that close the port holes, the water bat- 
tery still in a state of excellent preservation, and the strength of the 
inner breast works, all show it was built for defense of hearth, home 

and native land. 

* * * 

Next in order of interest, perhaps, to one who treads the aisles 
of the past, is the old court house on the hill. This building with its 
classic portico, shaded by drooping elms, was erected in 1824. It 
replaced the court house and jail of logs, which had formerly been 
situated in Dresden and was patterned like the places of justice built 
long ago in England. It cannot but appeal to the heart of one who 
is interested in the great men of the past, for in that upper court 
room the voice of Daniel Webster was once heard pleading for jus- 
tice and mercy. Here spoke Benjamin F. Butler, whose gift of ora- 
tory was known and praised from coast to coast. The light through 
those narrow-paned windows shone on Chief Justice Sewall's noble 
head, as through many a weary day he gave the best of heart and 
brain to the questions that lay before him. To his admirers the chair 
and table where he sat will ever be a reminder of the days when he 
lived and moved among them. Here he died while holding court, in 
harness to the last, and here, too, he was buried, although afterward 
his body was removed and deposited in his family tomb at Marble- 
head, Massachusetts. 

On one side of the pillar, marking the spot of his former resting 
place is the following inscription : 

''Erected by the members of the bar practicing in the Supreme 
Judicial Court of this Commonwealth to express their veneration for 
the character of the Hon. Samuel Sewall, late Chief Justice of said 
Court, who died suddenly in this place on the 8th day of June, 1814, 
aged 56." 

In the old burying ground lie other men of more than local repu- 
tation. Among these is the Hon. Silas Lee, a prominent lawyer, who 
had also a military record of note. He died of that terrible plague 
that ravaged the town in 1814. A large block of lettered granite 
marks his last resting place. A small engraving of him hangs upon 
the walls of the Maine Historical Society rooms in Portland, show- 
ing plainly his ruffled shirt bosom, profuse head of hair and promi- 
nent nose. The court records are replete with his name, he being 



34 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

an authority in those days on both legal and military matters, "quiclv 
in argument, terrible in sarcasm, powerful in eloquence." 

Here, too, lies another lawyer, Manasseh Smith, Sr., who had been 
chaplain in the Revolutionary army and clerk in the Supreme Judi- 
cial Court of Massachusetts. He settled here in 1788 for the practise 
of law and, as his tombstone reads "declined public offices and de- 
voted himself to the duties of his profession, the happiness of his 
family and the offices of piety." Near the graves of these jurists is 
the humble headstone of Ezelciel Averill, who was one of Washing- 
ton's body guard. He died in 1850 at the age of ninety-five years. 

In the old court house men prominent in the affairs of State and 
nation have been familiar figures. Besides Judge Lee there were the 
Judges Bailey, Orchard Cooke, the Hon. J. D. MacCrate, Hon. Sam- 
uel E. Smith who was once governor of Maine, and Hon. Abiel Wood 
who had represented his district so brilliantly in Congress. The 
walls have echoed to the eloquent pleas and the clash of opposing 
counsel ; they have looked on the freed prisoner v/eeping tears of joy 
and seen the condemned criminal go out to meet the answer to life's 
eternal question. In that bare, little room at the left of the judge's 
bench many jurors have decided on many fates in the last century; 
but not a word do the gray walls tell of the heated arguments, the 
sympathetic pleas, the casting of the die that ofttimes meant "an eye 
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," and a life for a life. 

In the vaults of the offices below are to be found old deeds, rich 
in historical information, showing how land was purchased of the 
Indians for a bushel or two of barley, a few pounds of meal, skins 
of animals, or what seemed more important in many cases, skins of 
wine. These documents, curious in name and wording, are signed 
by famous Indian Sagamores; names all too familiar when history 
was in the making. One of them, said to be the oldest deed on 
record in the whole country, is signed by that same Samoset who 
greeted the Pilgrims on their arrival at Plymouth. It is dated July 
2, 1620, and sells land which would now extend over New Harbor, 
Bremen, Bristol, east as far as Nobleboro and north as far as Jeffer- 
son, for fifty skins. Selling indeed a birthright for a mess of pot- 
tage ! It is after reading such documents as these that the thought- 
ful mind must pause and wonder if the red men were not, indeed, 
more sinned against than sinning. 

* * * 

By the side of the courthouse, so close that one reaching from the 
windows could almost touch the old Paul Revere bell in the steeple, 
stands the Congregational Church, a large, white building with a 
Grecian front, which has the characteristic New England look of 
dignity combined with grace. The town voted in 1765 to build a 
meeting-house for public worship ; after several years the tower was 
added, and within it was hung the bell cast by Paul Revere & Sons, 



The Garden of the East 35 

Boston. Here, too, swinging to every breeze, as it swings to-day, the 
famous weathercock is also a product of the foundry of that man 
who watched for the lights in the old North Church in that history- 
making night in 1775. 

Rev. Thomas Moore, an Armenian, was the first preacher, and by 
no means a powerful nor a popular one. lie preached, however, 
until 1791, and it is owing to his negligence that through those years 
no record of marriages, births or deaths was left to posterity. The 
dwelling house of this first minister was situated on what is now 
known as the Langdon Road. The cellar of the house is still to be 
seen, and in a small field on the opposite side of the road is his well. 
This minister married a daughter of Col. Kingsbury, who built what 
is now the oldest two-story house in town, standing at the corner of 
Washington and Federal Streets. 

Many a touching scene has been enacted within the precincts of 
the stately, old meeting-house. Here was read that famous docu- 
ment signed by the representatives of the people in 1776, and or- 
dered by Congress to be read from every pulpit in the land ; thither 
came that slow and solemn procession on the first day of January, 
1800, mourning the loss of George Washington, "the nation's best 
loved son"; here were held the various public meetings in the vital 
interests of the community; here the people of Wiscasset have been 
married and from here they have been buried; here preached the 
courtly and polished Bradford of Pilgrim ancestry, the grave and 
reverend Dr. Packard, the learned Hooker, the energetic White and 
Mather, and their successors, a long line of distinguished and beloved 
men, from whose lives linger fragrant traditions. 

In its original state the meeting-house Avas said to resemble the 
ancient meeting-houses of Alna, Walpole and Waldoboro, with their 
high, old pulpits, quaint sounding boards and double row of box 
seats. This old meeting-house was torn down in 1840 and a new 
church edifice erected on the same site. This was consumed by fire 
in 1907 and the Revere Bell, which had done duty for more than half 
a century, crashed to earth. The fragments were recovered to be 
recast and hung in the belfry of the present building, a fac-simile of 
the former church, erected in 1909. In excavating among the ruins 
of the foundations of the second church building a bottle was found 
which contained a message written by one who for nearly half a 
century had been dust in the old church yard. It was dated Wiscas- 
set, July 2, A.D. 1839, written in quaint hand, and read as follows: 

Greeting : This bottle with its contents was deposited this day in 
the N. E. corner of the foundation of the new church belonging to the 
first parish & contains two newspapers, this note & the pen with 
which it was written. In a south-west direction 5 (five) feet dis- 
tant from this bottle is another containing fruit which was gathered 
and deposited yesterday (July 1st) by me." 



36 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

The writer goes on to tell of the inhabitants of the to^vn which 
then "numbered 3000 people with 3 Meeting Houses, 1 Court House, 
Town House, 1 Bank, Poor House & Jail, 5 Ships, 1 Barque, and 
about 15 Brigs & Schooners, 2 Steam Mills & 1 Foundry." After 
speaking of the political and international happenings in the world, 
he closes with the following remarks : 

' ' The astonishing changes that have taken place within a century, 
yea, within even my own recollection, have induced me to make these 
few remarks, to call your attention to the difference between your 
time and this present one. It is a solemn thought that I write to a 
generation yet unborn: that when your eyes see this, mine will be 
closed forever; the heart that now beats will then be still; the hand 
that now writes will be turned to dust ; the mind that now animates 
this perishable frame will have gone to God who gave it, & naught 
will remain but this scroll, perchance, to tell that I have lived and 
died. There is truly much food for reflection here. God bless you 
all. Farewell. 

Alexander Johnston, Jr. 
Born Dec. 20, 1815 Aet. 23 yrs. 6 Mo. 

Thus reads the message from one who, for more than three score 
years, lived within sound of the old bell, and it comes to us from 
out the past with a weird reminder that 

"There was the door to which I found no key; 
There was the veil through which I could not see: 
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee 
There was — and then no more of Thee and Me." 
* * * 

Beyond the church, along the elm-embowered way, stand the old 
aristocrats of the town, the ancient mansions, each set in the midst 
of spacious lawns steeped in the romance, life and breath of a past 
century. Here is the "Governor Smith House," built by the Judge 
Silas Lee, of whom we have previously written. It is a capacious, 
old mansion, colonial in style, built of bricks and painted white. Hon. 
Samuel E. Smith, who was governor of Maine in 1831-2-3, occupied 
this house for many years. It was Governor Smith's younger son who 
married a sister of Blanche Willis Howard, the well-known writer, 
and it was in this old mansion that Miss Howard received the in- 
spiration that gave her charming novel "One Summer" to the 
world. It is known to-day as the "One Summer House," and is 
indeed a fit home for genius and a perfect type of the old-time New 
England mansion. Miss Howard depicted this house as the board- 
ing place of her beautiful heroine. From its windows she saw the 
sweeping elms, the green slope of the common, the old sun dial that 
figured in her story, and beyond the long bridge a glimpse of "Folly 
Island," and the hills with the sunset on their heights. 



The Garden of the East 37 

Judge Lee was not satisfied with the size of this house and after- 
ward built the one now known as the "Tucker Mansion," a beautiful 
residence, standing on a hill commanding a wonderful panorama of 
the river and broad bay. Even in this day, erected over a century 
ago, both the exterior with its fine architecture and the interior with 
its huge, old rooms, broad halls, and galleries above, is worthy 
the notice of a modern architect. The house has been the home of 
the family of the late Capt. R. H. Tucker for many years. This 
family is gifted, numbering among its members Patience Stapleton, 
better known as "Pat Tucker," who has written many interesting 
stories of Colorado and Maine. 

On this street, also, is the stately, old Carlton House, built and 
owned by Major Carlton, who was ruined by the Embargo Act of 
1812. This house, once occupied by this grand gentleman of the old 
school, has many picturesque features, among them shade trees 
brought from Norway, Japan and other parts of the world. The 
Patterson family, who now own this house, make every effort to pre- 
serve it as it was in the old Major's life time. This spirit of loyalty 
to the traditions of the past seems to be characteristic of the people 
of Wiscasset, and to it is due much of the atmosphere of charm that 
pervades the historical, old place. 

Further along the street is the Wood House, built by Hon. Abiel 
Wood, a son of Gen. Abiel Wood who, by the record on his tomb- 
stone, "resigned all sublunary honors Aug. 11, 1811." This man- 
sion, owned by the wealthy ship-owner and West Indian merchant, 
has the honor of having been for a time the home of Sally Sayward 

Barsel, the first writer of fiction in Maine. 

* * * 

At the corner of Federal and Main Streets, opposite the residence 
of ex-Mayor Sortwell, is the cellar, now transformed into a beautiful 
sunken garden, of the old inn of stage-coach days. Here in about the 
year 1768 Ebenezer Whittier erected what was known as the Whit- 
tier Tavern, a rambling, old house of many rooms. The well-known 
Hilton House afterward stood on this very spot, although the old tav- 
ern was twenty feet longer and extended more to the eastward. Much 
of the history of this famous old tavern is buried forever in the past. 
Ebenezer Whittier was a man of good repute, a respected citizen, "a 
moving spirit in both town and parish affairs." He represented this 
town in the General Court of Massachusetts in 1787. He was also 
the first postmaster of Wiscasset, where the second post office duly 
authorized by the Federal Government was established in Maine in 
1790. 

At this old tavern the early post-riders, John Smith Foye and 
Samuel Sevey, both Wiscasset men, stopped their tired horses in 
their weekly trips between Portland and Warren ; here the judges 
met their clients; here trials x\-ere heard; here town meetings were 



38 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

held ; here the tide of village life ebbed and flowed, and here in later 
days before the railroad was built, the stage-coaches swept down the 
old turnpike and drew up at the hospitable door. It is interesting 
to trace the route of that olden time. After the passengers had eaten 
and fresh horses had been secured, the driver swung himself up on 
the high seat, gathered up his reins, snapped his whip and drove 
down the hill over the long bridge, up a short, sharp rise and turned 
into a road that has long been in disuse with underbrush and grass 
growing thick where the hurrying horses once trod. Only the bor- 
der of lofty pines, in the tallest of which an eagle once made its 
home, remains to tell of the days when the coach with merry whistle 
and cheery halloo dashed down a path now carpeted thick with 
mossy turf. 

Some of the men who once handled whip and line are not forgot- 
ten by this generation. Tom lugraham, hero of a poem written in 
1868, entitled, "Tom Ingraham's Ride," is remembered as one of the 
best and kindest-hearted of men. John Marshall, who drove over the 
route from 1850 to 1871, but recently died in Portland, and Supt. 
"White of the old Knox and Lincoln, whose genial face was known 
from end to end of the Pine Tree State, also drove many times on 
top of the old stage coach over the picturesque turnpike road. 

The old inn echoed to the cheerful sound of voices, the merry 
laughter and the happy greeting of many guests who have since gone 
down the long trail. To this tavern came the soldiers after the try- 
ing daj^s of the Civil War, most of them returning home mere shad- 
ows of the men who had gone forth full of courage and faith. A 
touching incident is related of a party of these brave men seated 
around the old tavern fire-place, telling tales of the harrowing years 
now past. One of them, who belonged in a neighboring town, a 
youth of twenty-four or twenty-five, who, even with his extreme pal- 
lor and emaciation showed traces of remarkable comeliness and grace, 
suddenly lifted his head from the thoughtful position in which he 
had sat during the recital of his comrades. 

"Boys," he said, "your stories are interesting and many of them 
strange, but none more strange than mine. When I reach home to- 
morrow it will be as one returned from the dead. They reported me 
missing on the battlefield. For months I lay in a hospital — ill with 
brain fever. I have just recovered my memory and my life. They 
think me dead back home, boys. I have just been sitting here think- 
ing — thinking— till I can see but one thing, boys, and that the old 
farm — back there — the apple trees — the kitchen door — and my 
mother's face when she sees me, boys, hers — and — and — " 

He paused, and those listening knew that back at home there was 
some one else very near and dear whom the young soldier would be 
glad to meet under the apples trees on the morrow. At this moment 
a heavy coach rumbled up to the door. From its liveried driver and 



The Garden of the East 39 

richly decorated horses one saw at once it was a carriage belonging 
to a person of wealth and position. The liveried footman alighted 
and threw open the door, and down stepped a pompous gentleman, 
clad in heavy broadcloth, whose white hair and noble bearing easily 
distinguished him as a personage of high position. He assisted a 
lovely young girl to alight, and those watching saw by his tender 
solicitude the position of the two. 

"My word for it, it's a bridal couple!" exclaimed one of the 
soldiers by the window. 

* ' Oh, yes, that 's Squire I — and his new wife from down Rockland 
way. They ain't been married but a day or two. They're probably 
on their way to Portland or Boston." 

As the young bride, coming up the walk, threw back her veil, the 
sweetness of her face appealed to all ; but the drawn curves of the 
young lips, the sad droop of her brown eyes, showed that the path of 
wealth was not always a path of roses. As she drew nearer a terri- 
ble cry smote the air. The young soldier, who had not risen at first, 
had been attracted by the exclamations of his companions at the 
window and had come up behind them. 

"Lucille! My God!" he cried, and again, "Lucille!" 

At the sound of that voice, from the grave as it seemed to her 
startled ear, the young bride fairly flew down the passageway and in- 
to the room. Such a meeting! The old frequenters of the tavern 
told the tale for years. Such a return from the dead ! So young, 
so loving, and between them forever a barrier of law and gold. One 
by one the men withdrew and left the three together — that pitiful, 
eternal triangle, which has existed for centuries and will exist until 
time has ceased to be. 

No one ever knew what happened in that room, for the ancient 
andirons and the fire on the hearth told no tales, nor has an echo of 
it come to us down the years, but in the morning the bridal couple went 
their way, and the young soldier his — apart forever. Perhaps the 
gold and the mansion were fairer to the girlish eyes than love in a 
cottage, perhaps she was like the poor Scotch lassie in the song and 
"Auld Robin Gray" was a "gude mon" to her. Nothing was heard 
of the young soldier after his departure to his home. His mother 
may have consoled him for his loss; perhaps he found another and 
a truer sweetheart under the old apple trees. Years afterward one 
of the frequenters of the tavern told of seeing Jlrs. I — at some great 
public banquet in the city where she then resided, and he said her 
eyes had in them the look of one to whom sorrow is ever her closest 
companion, and that the jewels, with which she was adorned, were 
not harder than her still, cold face. 

It will leave a happier memory in our minds if we think the young 
soldier married and was happy during the j'cars in which his former 
sweetheart fretted in her golden cage, for one ahvays recalls the 



40 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

words of the philosopher, "Men have died and worms have eaten 
them, but not for love." 

In direct denial of this accepted statement we remember an an- 
cient, broken headstone half buried from sight on the land of Hon. 
Silas Lee, and read of another lover who once lived in the old tavern 
and met his death through love. This was the youngest son of the 
l^roprietor, handsome James Whittier, who had proved more fascinat- 
ing to young Elizabeth Lee, a niece of the judge, than her many 
suitors in Massachusetts. She had met him on one of her visits in 
summer to the lovely, old town, and the elm-embowered streets, the 
long bridge, the sparkling waters of the harbor, had witnessed a 
beautiful romance until in time Wiscasset became indeed to her the 
end of her world. Here she contracted diphtheria which was rag- 
ing at that time, and died on the fourteenth of February, 1795, call- 
ing her lover's name to the last. The broken headstone tells the 
remainder of the piteous story and shows once more to a cynical, old 
world that ' ' the mind has a thousand eyes and the heart but one, but 
the light of a whole life dies when love is done." 

This follows the inscription over James Whittier 's burial place, 
an inscription that will linger long in the memory of those who 
pause to read its touching story : 

Mr. James Whittier 

son 

Capt. EbenR Whittier & BlizH his wife 

who died Apr. 17, 1798 

of a Consumption on a passage to the West Indies 

Aet 25 

The disease which terminated his life originated in the 

death of his fair and betrothed friend who lies interred 

near this monument. 

In life they loved; in death they are not divided. 

* w * 

It is difficult to say why the story of Rosalind Clough and the 
old house on Squam Island has been reserved for the end of this tale. 
Perhaps for the same reason that the wise hostess saves the rarest 
bits for the dessert that follows the dinner. 

' ' I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 
I say the tale as 'twas said to me." 

Few of the visitors to the old town of Wiscasset realize that just 
across the bridge, in full view of the train, stands a two-storied, 
Colonial mansion with tall elms shading its narrow-paned windows, 
which is made famous and sacred for all time by a breath of the 
presence of ill-fated Marie Antoinette. Marie Antoinette! Is it 




The Marie Antoinette House 



The Garden of the East 41 

not a name to conjure with? What marvellous visions it evokes! 
Before the mind's eye drifts a series of pictures at the very name. 
Marie Antoinette, haughty, wondrously fair, every inch a queen; 
Marie Antoinette in her sweet matrouhood, loving wife and fond 
mother in the stately old palace at Versailles; Marie Antoinette fac- 
ing that blood-thirsty mob in the Tuileries, calm with the calmness of 
utter despair; Marie Antoinette in those last, sad chapters, bereft 
of all that life held dear, standing in the dread shadow of the 
guillotine, always a beautiful, pathetic figure, a royal, noble woman 
to the end. 

Nearly one hundred and fifty years ago the old house, now stand- 
ing in North Edgecomb, was built on what is now known as West- 
port, then called by the Indians Squam Island, directly opposite Wis- 
casset. It stood on the northern extremity of the island near the 
alleged "salt works" which the French government had established 
there for the real purpose of watching the progress of the American 
Revolution. Below the house and beyond the quarries still remain 
ruins of the old batteries of Fort McDonough, where the battle of 
Bulwark was fought in 1812. From this island also could be heard 
the thunder of the guns of that famous naval battle between the 
"Enterprise" and "Boxer" near Pemaquid. 

The old stone house was built in the year 1744 for Capt. Joseph 
Decker, a wealthy shipmaster and owner, who occupied Squam Point, 
the site of an old Indian trade station. In the days of Decker 
this was one of the cells of which Wiscasset Point was a "commercial 
bee hive" and Capt. Decker was one of the chief factors. This site 
had ware-houses, timber booms, and wharves adapted to an extensive 
trade with the West Indies. After the death of Decker, Capt. Sam- 
uel Clough, who had won his handsome daughter for a bride, took 
possession of the old house on Squam Island and continued the Eu- 
ropean business in the export of lumber from Wiscasset. Happy 
were the times and gay the feasting and mirth in the old mansion 
when the young captain sailed home from foreign ports with his 
great cargoes of merchandise. 

Even yet old sea captains tell the story and the writer first heard 
it with all its mystic glamour, related by the late Hon. Rufus King 
Sewall, better known as "The Lincoln County Historian," that 
kindly, gracious gentleman, who was as courteous to the awkward 
school-girl stranger as he would have been to any of the judges, 
lawyers, and men of letters who lingered by his hospitable hearth. 
There in the twilight of his quaint, old house in Wiscasset, with his 
dark walls hung wnth the trophies of olden days, with the brass can- 
dlesticks on the mantel, and the slow fire burning between the ancient 
andirons, it seemed a tale of truth and one well worth the hearing. 

Little did the people of the quiet little hamlet of Wiscasset or 
those on the picturesque island across the river realize the despotism, 



42 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

recklessness and profligacy that were tearing the fair heart of France 
to its inmost stronghold. The people came and went about their 
tasks; the curfew bell pealed out as calmly across the water as if 
there were no storm.y revolution, no blood-curdling Reign of Terror 
in the world. Perhaps Capt. Samuel Clough knew better than any 
of these peaceful country folk what agony and desolation were abroad 
in the land. For many years he had voyaged to France and his 
name was well known along the quays of Havre and in the big mer- 
chant-houses of Paris as that of a man of honor, whose word was as 
good as gold, one who could be trusted in all places and at all times 
— a true American. 

Often in the quiet evenings of early fall or when the snow fell 
softly about the mansion, he would tell singular tales as his family 
gathered about the cheery blaze. There were tales of the weakling 
king, who had ruled with haughty, extravagant hand over beautiful 
France and who had been torn from his throne and thrust into prison 
as a reward for his wickedness ; tales of the infamous Duke of Orleans, 
who was proving himself a traitor to his king and to his country; 
of the wicked, reckless leaders of the National Convention, Robes- 
pierre, Danton, and Marat, whose names have since become synony- 
mous with all that is vile, traitorous and dishonorable in the history 
of man. But there was one story that wife and children would draw 
closer to hear, for Capt. Clough 's voice would grow gentler in tone 
and linger with a sort of pathetic cadence whenever he spoke the 
name of the beautiful, ill-fated Queen of the French, — Marie An- 
toinette. 

Capt. Clough had been in France that fatal July day in 1789, 
when the smouldering fury of the Paris mob had burst into flame, 
and, urged to insurrection, had stormed on the old Bastile and cap- 
tured the prison. Then the excited populace, swearing, howling, 
cursing, fighting,had swept down the green road and compelled the 
king and royal family to return to Paris. Amid all the horror of 
the events which caught the breath of his listeners and held their 
eager attention, one beautiful, tragic figure stood forth in an aureole 
of light. Although Capt. Clough would breathe scornful words of 
the weakling king and his treacherous counsellors, neither wife nor 
children ever heard a word of censure from his lips for the Queen 
of France. So, whereas her name was spoken by others with bit- 
terness, deriding her costly tastes, her wilful moods and her reck- 
less extravagances, many historians even averring that she was the 
direct cause of the French Revolution, Capt. dough's household 
grew to look upon her with a reverence that amounted almost to awe, 
spoke of her in tones of tenderness and pity, and carried always in 
their hearts the vision of that gracious, queenly woman, wife, mother 
and saint. 



The Garden of the East 43 

During the terrible summer of 1792 Capt. Clough was again in 
France. He saw the Parisian mob burst all bonds, storm upon the 
palace of the Tuileries, massacre the brave Swiss guards who de- 
fended it and thrust the whole royal family into prison. Before he 
reached his quiet Maine home, for passage was slow in those days, 
France was declared a republic. When he again set foot in the streets 
of Paris they had literally flowed red with blood, and Louis XVI. had 
met the fate of the guillotine. His letters home tore the hearts of 
his readers, for through his friendship with some loyalists he had be- 
come familiar with their private affairs and the pitiful suffering 
through which the royal family had passed was depicted in harrowing 
detail. The incident that touched the hearts of Madam Clough and 
her daughter most keenly, was that the luxuriant tresses of Marie 
Antoinette had turned snow-white in a single night. 

In the fall of 1793 Capt. Clough was expected home from France. 
When he did not return at the time appointed, his family became 
alarmed, knowing as they did of the turbulent times in the French 
nation and of how little worth was the life of any one who sympa- 
thized with the royal cause. Robespierre and Danton were then eon- 
ducting the Reign of Terror and Capt. Clough had written of how 
hundreds were hurried to the guillotine at the dawn of each new 
day. Many and many a time in those anxious weeks Madam Clough 
left her household duties to gaze from the topmost window of the 
mansion, watching the peaceful river for the ship that did not come. 
Many and many a time Richard, the stalwart son, paced the long 
beach toward the furthermost part of the island, scanning the ocean 
for the vessel which bore his loved father. Perhaps to Rosalind, the 
fair young daughter, came the greatest burden of anxious sorrow, 
for she was the idol of her brave father's heart and she had always 
been his closest companion when he was at home from sea. 

The mother was a dignified, matronly woman loving her children 
in her own quiet way, but the father, clever sailor and business man 
that he was, had the mystic nature of a student and dreamer and his 
daughter had inherited much of his disposition. There was thus a 
strong chain of sympathy between them, a sort of mental telepathy, 
as it would be called in these days, which bound them to each other 
with a bond that distance could not break. Sometimes Rosalind 
would say at the breakfast table, "I shall hear from my father to- 
day," and in almost every instance the letter would arrive before 
night-fall. Occasionally she would cry out anxiously, ''I am afraid 
my father is ill," and the next word received from him would tell 
of some indisposition. Neither tried to explain this strange sympa- 
thy, for it had existed so long it had become a part of their every-day 
lives. Naturally this time of suspense bore on Rosalind with an 
iron hand and crushed all joy out of her young heart. 



44 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Ships came and ships went, and still Capt. Clough did not return, 
and the feet of the women grew heavier at their household tasks and 
Richard Clough went about his duties with a saddened face. At last 
a letter came to the uneasy watchers, a letter that brought consola- 
tion when it assured them of the safet}'' of their dear one, but telling 
a strange tale of the happenings across the water, one that made the 
hearts of the readers beat more quickly and brought tears of sym- 
pathy to their eyes. Capt. Clough wrote of the thousands who had 
been executed, of the relentless hounding of s^anpathizers by Robes- 
pierre, of how a word or a whisper in the morning had sent many an 
innocent man to his death before night, how all day the death carts 
rattled through the streets, as Robespierre from an upper window 
watched "the cursed aristocrats" and mocked at their pain; and of 
how it was rumored that she, the noble, the royal woman, must meet 
the fate of her murdered husband. 

"There is a plot afoot," wrote Capt. Clough, "to rescue the 
queen from the death met by her husband and hundreds of their 
friends and sympathizers. I scarce dare think, much less write it to 
you, my dear ones, for each day I see men hurried to the guillotine 
without even a prayer for less than this. But that you may be pre- 
pared in some measure for what may follow, I will write briefly con- 
cerning our hazardous undertaking. Friends of the unhappy queen 
have spoken in private to friends of mine and they in turn to me. 
My ship lies in the port at any moment ready for sailing. I await 
the word. Methinks I need say no more, my loved ones, as I write in 
haste and with a troubled heart. Well, you know my sympathy has 
always been with her, even though I am an American-born citizen, 
and in America we know no king but God. My wife, prepare you the 
house, not as for a royal guest, but I say to you and Rosalind, child 
of my love, prepare you your hearts to receive a broken-hearted 
woman. Wait and watch and pray, my dear ones, for me and for 
her gracious and deeply- wronged majesty, Marie Antoinette." 

What wonder that tliere was stir and excitement in the great 
house on Squam Island ! What wonder that every nook and corner 
was cleaned and polished and cleaned and polished again! The 
nights might have seen bitter tears and agonized prayers for husband 
and father, but the days knew only quick hands and active feet, 
cheerful faces and busy tongues. At last all was in readiness. The 
house shone in beauty of freshly scoured paint and glittering win- 
dows. The chamber prepared for that strange guest was immaculate 
with its fresh linen and newly-laundered curtains. 

"Scarce a fit place for a queen to lay her head," observed Madam 
Clough, as she scanned the room for a bit of dust or disorder. 

The daughter came softly behind her. 

"Prepare you not your house as for a royal guest," she quoted 
gently, "prepare you your hearts to receive a broken-hearted 
woman. ' ' 




Rosalind Clouoh at the Age of 19 Years 
(From an Old Dauueneotypei 



The Garden of the East 45 

Mother and daughter looked for a moment into each other's eyes 

and burst into tears. 

* * * 

Days came and days went and through the red and gold of the 
autumnal foliage was felt the breath of approaching winter; but still 
no further message came to the watchers on Squam Island. Over 
and over again the house was prepared for its expected guest. The 
brightest fires roared their cheeriest welcome; the larder groaned 
with its goodly store. Never for one moment did the little family 
relax their vigil nor lose their hope, although the gray threads came 
swiftly in Madam Clough's dark hair and Rosalind's heavy eyes told 
of nights of sleepless watching. On the son and brother the waiting 
seemed to press its heaviest burden. Perhaps because he was alone 
so much at his out-of-door tasks, and could not share the compan- 
ionship of the women, perhaps because man was not made to bear 
what woman can nor to wait as woman can wait. 

One night in late October, one of those wonderful nights that 
only October can bring, the three sat around the huge fireplace, list- 
ening to the wind sighing down the big, old chimney, talk- 
ing in low tones and dropping into long silences. Madam Clough, 
who never allowed herself a moment's idleness, was busily knitting. 
Rosalind sat with her head against her mother's knee, her eyes fixed 
dreamily on the dancing flames. Richard had thrown himself on 
the old-fashioned settle. He had just come in from the stables and 
was cold and shivering as he drew closer to the welcome warmth. 
Each of them had felt all day a subdued excitement, a sort of super- 
stitious thrill, a creeping dread of what they knew not and would 
not have voiced had they kno\\Ti. A vague unrest was in each mind, 
an uneasy, listening, quivering waiting that stirred alike mother, 
daughter, and son. Still they did not speak of this to each other, 
nor realize what the others felt, for the father's name seldom came to 
their lips these days. Their hearts were too full for speech. 

Suddenly Rosalind rose and went out into the hall. They heard 
her swift, light footsteps on the bare floor, then the clang of the outer 
door. Neither asked where she had gone. By some tender intuition 
both knew. It was not the first time Rosalind had gone out into 
deepening twilight to scan with beating heart the river for the vessel 
that did not come. And the hearts of the two followed her and 
prayed that her vigil might not be in vain. 

Rosalind Clough paused a moment on the broad steps of the 
mansion. She was a demure, little figure with wide brown eyes, the 
white cap on her dark curls giving her countenance an almost Puri- 
tanical severity. There was something very sweet and winsome about 
the face, although the mouth was drawn with grave lines of anxiety 
that aged her far beyond her years. Before her in the fast-deepening 
twilight lay the broad expanse of water, quivering a little at its west- 



46 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

ern verge with flashes of crimson and gold. One by one candle 
lights twinkled forth in the houses of the hamlet across the river, and 
high above her on the white edge of the last cloud that was resisting 
the advance of Night, glimmered the first great star. It was the hour 
when Capt. Clough loved to draw his daughter's arm through his own 
and lead her down the long path to the shore. As she followed that 
path now she was lifted out of herself. The cares, the anxiety, the 
sorrow of the past few weeks fell from her like a cloak and she lived 
again the hours when they had paced the beach together, when he 
had taught her the lore of the waters and of the heavens and led her 
with him along a pathway of stars. She loved to think at such times 
that ]\Iars shone as redly for him so far away on the high seas as it 
did for her; that he, too, could see Vega's blue snow, Venus 's golden 
beauty, and the twinkling, shimmering swarm of the Pleiades; that 
all the marvelous panorama of the heavens, of which he had taught, 
hovered over them, linking them with a mystic chain as she thought 
of him and he of her under a foreign sky. 

What follows maj^ be only a legend. Those, who in these matter- 
of-fact days laugh at the supernatural, will call it a fairy story or 
a dream, but those who are interested in psychology, who admit the 
mighty contrcrl of mind over matter, will find food for reflection on 
wliat is chronicled here. Told, as the writer heard it, in a quaint, 
old, darkened room with dim shadows lighted only by a smouldering 
wood-fire it would indeed grip the listener with a surge of shudder- 
ing awe. 

Rosalind Clough paced back and forth on the beach as she had 
so many times on so many nights. The dampness of the wind smote 
her face with the memory of an hour that was gone ; the fascination 
of the night was upon her ; her very soul was stirred. The last glow 
from the dying sun faded leaving the sky as gray as the cloud in her 
heart. Even as she turned to gaze seaward, the darkness had de- 
scended, blotting even the horizon from view. The girl stood staring 
into the blackness, her heart suddenly full of rebellion that another 
day had ended without her father's return. 

And then the vision came to her. Earth and sea and sky in the 
pulse of a heart-beat seemed to flash before her with a great light. 
Every tree, every bush on the opposite shore, every bend in the river 
burst plainly on her view. The great glare pierced and tore the dusk 
like a flash of lightning. She closed her eyes, opened them again, 
stared like one in a dream. On the broad current of the stream she 
beheld the masts, the deck, and hull of a vessel, and although it was 
like a barque of silver on a water of crystal, she knew it was her 
father's own ship illumined with a strange and wonderful brightness 
as it gleamed before her startled gaze. She saw the busy sailors, the 
captain on the deck, even beheld him throw back his head in the old fa- 
miliar way, saw and recognized every detail of sail and mast and spar. 



The Garden of the East 47 

And then she saw Her — the Woman. She was floating rather than 
walking upon that silvered deck, a magnificent creature, beautiful in 
countenance and i'orm, tall, richly gowned, with powdered hair and 
regal carriage and with a i'ace that held one spellbound, so filled was 
it with youth and grace. Rosalind saw her stretch out her hands with 
a sudden, beseeching gesture as if pleading for release, then raise 
her eyes to Heaven with a wonderful look of peace. The girl strove 
to move, to speak, but could make neither motion nor sound. Even 
as she struggled with the awful torpor that benumbed her, the bright- 
ness suddenly faded, there was darkness again over island and sea, 
and the vision was gone. 

Half an hour later Madam Clough and her son were roused from 
their sad musings by the swift sound of light steps in the outer hall. 
The door was flung open to admit Rosalind looking like a wraith of 
the night with her dishevelled hair blown about her wide eyes and 
pallid face. 

"Mother! Mother!" she cried in a voice of piercing sweetness. 
"My father is well. He will return. But she — she — Marie An- 
toinette — is dead ! ' ' 

* * * 

Winter had cast its dark pall over the earth before Captain 
Clough sailed up the river to his home on Squam Island, and he 
brought beautifully carved furniture, draperies of velvet and silk, 
magnificent paper hangings and even costly gowns of rich brocade, 
which the friends of Marie Antoinette had placed on board his ves- 
sel in the far-away French waters that their loved qaeen might have 
fitting surroundings in the exile to which they had planned to send 
her across the seas. And he told of the discovery of the plot on the 
eve of its consummation, how the message, concealed and sent in a 
bouquet to the queen, w^as confiscated by her jailors, of how she had 
been hastened to her execution, of the imprisonment of her true and 
faithful friends, of his own hairbreadth escape, and of how, even as 
he fled, he heard the blood-curdling shouts of the mob, as it stormed 
through the narrow streets bearing ]\Iarie Antoinette to her untimely 
doom. And most remarkable coincidence of all, the night that Rosa- 
lind Clough had seen the strange vision was the night of Oct. 16, 
1793, the date of the queen's execution. 

Strange questions arise in the mind at this mere fabric of an 
ancient, dreamj^ legend. By some strong power of will did the mind 
of Capt. Clough, so filled with the dread happenings, convey to the 
responsive mind of his loved daughter the vision of the doomed 
queen. In striving to unravel the mystery we are met by that same 
impenetrable wall of blackness that forever blocks the way of even 
the most brilliant of scientists and students who spend their lives in 
trying to pierce the curtain of the Great Unseen. It is indeed true 
that 



48 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

"We are no other than a Moving Row 
Of magic Shadow-shapes that come and go 
Round with this Sun-illumined Lantern held 
In Midnight by the Master of the Show; 

"Impotent pieces of the Game He plays 
Upon this Checker Board of Nights and Days ; 
Hither and thither moves and checks and slays 
And one by one back in the Closet lays. 

"The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, 
But right or left as strikes the Player goes ; 
And He that tossed you down into the Field 
He knows about it all — He knows — He knows." 

Thus runs the tale. The old house has been moved to the oppo- 
site shore of Edgecomb, and still greets with colonial stateliness the 
visitors who come and go in its quiet rooms, furnished in the grandeur 
of other days. One by one the relics, which proved the truth of the 
story, have been carried away by souvenir hunters. Only a shred of 
taspestry and a piece of brocaded stuff, on which is pinned a scrap 
of paper in Capt. Clough's handwriting, remain to give credence to 
the inexplicable tale. This certificate asserts that the cloth was sent 
to Capt. Samuel Clough "by an eye witness," and was a bit of the 
gown worn by the queen at her execution. 

When the late Mr. Sewall was a mere lad he saw the rich hang- 
ings brought from the palace at Versailles and the beautiful, old- 
fashioned gowns, that seemed even then to breathe of the fair, dead 
woman who had worn them. Many of the tapestries were given away 
years ago; the hangings have fallen into tattered rags; the quaint, 
old sideboard stood for years in the Knox House, Thomaston. So 
the fragments that told of the ancient tragedy have been scattered 
far and wide. Fair, little Rosalind married and we trust "lived 
happily ever after" like the princess in the fairy tale. Her first 
daughter was named Antoinette, and to this day the name remains 
in the family, handed down from daughter to daughter in each suc- 
ceeding generation. 

It is an established fact that Talleyrand, the noted French states- 
man, landed at Wiscasset in 1794 with a handsome youth who was a 
fugitive from the French Revolution. This youth proved to be the 
young Duke of Orleans, afterward Philip, King of France. It is 
said they escaped from Paris in Capt. Clough's vessel, came with 
him to Wiscasset, from there to Hallowell with letters to Cols. North 
and Vaughn, and thence to Philadelphia. 

So only the memory lives in the minds and hearts of a few of the 
residents of the dignified, old town, a memory that is but a link in 



The Garden of the East 49 

that long chain of the past, each link a heart throb, each tear a bead, 
each smile a jewel of great price. And this chain of memories of 
*'The Garden of the East" in which is woven fact and fiction, would 
not be complete without the story of Rosalind, the little maid of 
Squam Island, and that other with her crown of gold and crown of 
snow, wife and mother, queen and martyr — Marie Antoinette. 

"Clasp, Angel of the backward look 
And folded wings of ashen gray 
And voice of echoes far away, 
The brazen covers of thy book; 
The weird palimpest old and vast. 
Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; 
Where, closely mingling, pale and glow 
The characters of joy and woe; 
The monographs of outlived years, 
Or smile-illumined or dim with tears. 
Even while I look I can but heed 
The restless sands' incessant fall, 
Importunate hours that hours succeed, 
Each clamorous with its own sharp need, 
And duty keeping place with all. 
Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; 
I hear again the voice that bids 
The dreamer leave his dream midway 
For larger hopes and graver fears: 
Life greatens in these later years, 
The century's aloe flowers to-day." 



THE LUCK OF THE JULIET: A TRAGEDY 
OF THE SEA 



The Luck of the Juliet: A Tragedy 
of the Sea 

By LOUISE WHEELER BARTLETT 



INETTA Hodsdon stood on the steps of the old Colonial 
tavern and looked first up the street and then down. 
She was watching for Ned Brown, her sailor lover. lie 
had agreed to call for her for their usual Sunday 
1 &7 afternoon walk. It was now almost half -past three. She 
V^E/ looked over to Ned's house, only a stone's throw dis- 
' I tant, but the house was wrapped in Sabbath peace. Be- 
yond, on the slope of the hill, at the old Gay house, where her friend 
Ethel Snowman lived, she saw Ethel and her husband John looking 
at the vines around the doorway. Minetta waved her hand and 
looked about her to discover any traces of new spring green peeping 
through the black earth around her own doorway. 

The big, pillared door, Avith its fan light over the top and its pol- 
ished brass knocker, made a fine background for her as she stood 
there. Minetta was pretty, scarcely more than seventeen. She was 
Blender, so slender that even the full skirts and furbelows of the days 
of the Rebellion could not detract from her figure. She had a mass 
of yellow curls, large violet eyes and plenty of pink in her cheeks. 
She was sweet natured, usually as angelic as her appearance, but 
when occasion demanded she had plenty of fire, as Ned Brown was 
to find out later that day. 

When Captain Hodsdon was confronted with the problem of tak- 
ing care of his two motherless daughters, he decided to quit the sea 
and put his savings into this old tavern. Later, he had the chance 
to continue his hotel management and also be sailing master of the 
old packet "Spy," which plied between Castine and Belfast. He 
was a genial host, who kept his guests in a good frame of mind with 
his fund of witty stories. So they soon learned to overlook such minor 
inconveniences as tough steak and poor service. He made a success 
of his inn by sheer force of his own strong personality. 

The other daughter, Maria, was as fine a girl as Minetta, several 
years younger and her exact opposite, with gipsy coloring, dark hair 
and big black eyes. Maria had begged to go to walk with her sister 
this sunny April day, but Minetta had been firm in her refusal, for 
she had an important question that she wanted settled between her- 
self and Ned this very afternoon. It must be settled, if she were to 
get her clothes ready to be married in June, as Ned was now urging. 



54 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Minetta had just time to loosen the dirt about five new-born 
crocuses, when she heard, first Ned 's whistle and then his footstep on 
the flag walk, as he came around the sprawling ell of the house. 
Ordinarily she might have taken Ned to task for his tardiness, but 
not now, with the favor which she had in mind to ask of him this 
afternoon. Ned came up to her with an eager smile and squeezed 
the firm little hand which she held out to him. 

"Sorry, Netta dear, to keep you waiting. I've been up on Captain 
Davies' piazza and he has been telling us fellows some mighty inter- 
esting war stories. Wish I could tell a story the way he does. He 
makes you see the whole thing before your eyes — the regiments of 
soldiers, the smoke and roar of cannon and all the glory of battle. It 
was so hard to break away, that's why I'm late." And his face 
flushed with enthusiasm in spite of his apologetic tones. 

It was so good to walk in the warm spring sunlight, that, not 
minding the mud, they went up to the fort and along the upper road, 
by Ober's little farmhouse, almost out to the light at Dice's Head. 
Then they swung around by the white stone cottage at the bend of 
the road and looked out over Penobscot Bay to the distant sea. Sud- 
denly Minetta said, with a quiver of her lip and a half sob in her 
throat : 

"It won't be long, Ned, before you will be sailing out there on 
j^our way to the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and I shall be standing here 
alone watching you out of sight." 

"Don't think of that part of it, Netta. Remember, by that time 
you will be my wife. Rather think of the day when you will be 
standing here watching our little schooner coming up the bay to 
greet you," replied he. 

When they reached Mogridge's barn the bars were up across the 
road. Ned offered to take them do-wai but Minetta liked the fun of 
climbing over and Ned liked it, too. For when she stood on the top- 
most bar, poised like a bird for flight, he put up his arms and lifted 
her down. He held her close for one precious moment, which might 
have been longer if Mrs. Mogridge had not come out of the bam with 
a foaming pail of milk and destroyed the sentimental value of the 
scene. 

Finally, as the sun was getting low, they came along the beach 
past Webster's shipyard and the Noyes shipyard to Tilden's yard 
and the lumber wharf, to look at a schoouer being built there. 
Minetta was crazy over the little vessel, and that was why she guided 
Ned's steps that way. They went over the vessel and looked into 
the cabin and the cook 's galley. Wlien they were back on the wharf 
they leaned against a pile of lumber and talked her over. 

Minetta said, "Oh, Ned, I just love this little schooner. She is 
the sweetest one ever built here. Ned, you must get the boys to name 
her for me. My heart is set on it." 



The Luck of the Juliet 55 

"But Netta, deiirest, 1 am only one of sixteen, and I can't name 
her for you. We've all agreed to call her the 'Juliet Tilden' after 
the Colonel's wife." 

That cut Minetta to the quick. She stamped her foot and said it 
should be named for her, and she was going to christen it with a bot- 
tle of wine, as she had read they did in foreign countries. 

Ned kept discreetly silent. Then she tried the coaxing method. 
With an adorable pout she put her pretty arms around his neck and 
said: 

"Don't you love me? Don't you think me as pretty as Mrs. 
Tilden?" 

"You're the sweetest thing in the world to me," said Ned, but he 
could see she did not believe him, and in a moment she came back 
with these words : 

"You don't mean it; I know you don't. I have heard you say a 
dozen times that the Colonel and his wife were the handsomest couple 
that ever walked down the gang plank onto steamboat wharf. ' ' 

In her disappointment she was almost jealous of the lovely, stately 
Juliet. She ended the discussion with these words: 

"Ned Brown, if you don't name this schooner after me, I shall not 
marry you in June. You may just wait for me until I am ready- 
perhaps December, or any old time. Listen to what I say. This 
schooner will never have any luck if you do name her 'Juliet,' " and 
under her breath she said something to the effect that, like Shakes- 
peare's heroine, both Juliets would be fated to an early grave. She 
then turned on her heel, and without looking back went home to her 
supper. 

Ned, with both hands stuffed deep in his pockets and a crestfallen 
look about his mouth, such as a man generally wears when his wife 
or sweetheart has had the last word, went whistling over to the other 
side of the wharf. There he found his brother Andy and several 
other boys, their feet hanging over the edge of the wharf and their 
backs against another pile of lumber, smoking, whittling and talking 
over the matter they had just heard the lovers discussing. Could 
Minetta 's words be called a prophecy, would they curse the schooner? 
This was the first disagreement they had had since they had been 
keeping company, but he understood Minetta well enough to know 
that a night's sleep would help matters out and she would soon be her 
usual agreeable self. So Ned joined the boys and tried to dismiss 
the whole fuss from his mind. 

These were the days of '66 and '67, right after the close of the 
Civil War. Owing to the injury done their shipping, New England's 
seaports, as well as those of the South, were having bitter days of 
reconstruction. Castine had suffered heavily. She had contributed 
her full quota to the Union cause. Colonel Tilden had returned to 
his native town, bringing his old white charger as well as a record of 
heroism of which the citizens were justly proud. The story of how 



56 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

he dug his way out of Libby Prison was the talk of the youngsters on 
the street. There was no favor too great for any Castine boy to do 
him. 

When the idea of building a schooner on shares was started, all 
the young fellows in town were eager to work on her if the Colonel 
would be agent and advance a sum sufficient to start the project. 
Sixteen men from eighteen to twenty-five years old put in some $700 
each. Part of this was cash, but some of it represented the work that 
each one did on her. All of the boys in those daj^s knew enough to 
lend a hand and do an honest day's work at shipbuilding. Many of 
these young lads learned some other trade, but when times were slack, 
worked at ship carpentry, and in the evenings went to apprentice 
school. They went fishing up in the Bay Chaleurs from the first of 
June to the last of September. Those were the days of good profit 
in fish and they sold their fare for a tidy little sum, which might be 
laid away for a nest-egg against the time when they desired to marry. 

* * * 

The days of Castine 's supremacy as an important business port 
were over. One by one her industries had declined. The glory of 
l)eing the shire town of Hancock County had been taken away from 
her; the useless court-house and jail were empty. The brickyard had 
failed. Instead of five shipyards echoing to the cheerful tap-tap of 
the hammer, it was good luck if one ship were launched from one 
yard, each spring. Her weekly newspaper, which had been the best 
and largest in this part of the state from 1799, had died a natural 
death from lack of patronage. Where ten ships from native or for- 
eign ports entered or cleared during a week, bringing or taking large 
cargoes, the average now was perhaps one in a fortnight, and that, 
from Boston with freight, or a lumber or fishing schooner bound for 
the Provinces. The townspeople were discouraged and were even 
then looking about for some new enterprise to help the town to re- 
cover her former prosperity. The glory of her historic honors would 
always be hers, but the prestige of the normal school and of a health 
giving summer resort were yet to come. 

The "Juliet Tilden" was the prettiest sharp-nosed racing 
schooner ever built for mackerel fishing and must have cost about 
$18,000. She was the last vessel built in the Tilden shipyard and 
very few were built afterward in the town. 

That long line of fine old sea captains which included so many of 
the prominent Castine families, the Whitings, Gays, Brookses and 
Dyers, was no more. Many had retired from the merchant marine 
service to enjoy their last days with their families in comfortable 
Colonial homes. Ships from Cadiz by way of Liverpool or from 
Hong Kong around Cape Horn were no longer an every day occur- 
rence. It was only now and then that a yard sent out a fishing 
schooner. 




K/- 




Minetta 



The Luck of the Juliet 57 

The launching of the "Juliet" occurred the middle of the week. 
Ned dropped in to the Castine House on his way to it, to ask the 
Ilodsdon girls if they would like to see it. Minetta had had plenty 
of time to think over her ra.sh words. She had been unhappy over 
the falling out on Sunday and was quite ready now to meet Ned half 
way and even more, to restore friendly relations. So she called 
Maria and the three went over to the shipyard to see the staunch 
little boat slide down the greased ways. Half the town was present ; 
the wharves were black with spectators. There were no ceremonies 
and no christening scene. It took some little time after the "Juliet" 
launched to get her rigged, painted and fitted out for her maiden 
voyage. 

She started out the first of June so as to get up to the Bay of 
Chaleurs in time for the spring school of mackerel, which runs in 
there strong about that time. Some springs the bay is packed full 
of small fish which are chased in by the larger fish. This year it was 
a poor school and the fishing fleet did not do as well as usual. 

It was a wrench to her heart strings, the day Ned left her, but 
Minetta was j^oung and interested in the things of life worth while. 
She found that the long June days went by much more quickly than 
she had anticipated. Almost before she knew it, it was time to be 
on the lookout for tlie vessel's return. She had received several short 
letters from Ned, mailed from different ports where the "Juliet" 
touched on her way north. 

The "Juliet," returning from her first trip, sold her fish on the 
way home. The captain, Benjamin Sylvester, was from Deer Isle. 
He wanted to see his wife and babies, so he took the "Juliet" into 
his home harbor. The Castine boys sailed up in a small sloop to see 
their families, and get fresh supplies and clean clothes. They were 
to rejoin the vessel for her second trip to the fishing banks. 

The young people had a jolh^ fortnight while the boys were home. 
Hayrack rides around the Square, dances at the old Avery place and 
clam-bakes at Indian Bar filled in the da.ys. Ned Brown was a rest- 
less chap when off duty and he wanted something doing every minute. 

With the exception of what Minetta had threatened to Ned, there 
had been no thought of disaster connected with the "Juliet." What 
Minetta had said was only the chatter of a peeved child, about which 
only three or four persons knew. 

All of a sudden, a change seemed to come over every one con- 
nected with the little schooner. John Sawj^er said he had a feeling 
that the second trip would not be a success, so thought he would not 
go. Will Morey felt the same. John was persuaded to go, but Will 
stuck to his original decision. Perkins Hutchins told his father that 
he would rather help him tend the light. Perk's father had been 
given the government job of lighthouse keeper, but his father said 
for him to go along to sea and not show the white feather over noth- 
ing. 



58 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

In the meantime, the old "Morning Star" had started out on a 
trip. The *'Star" was a rather rotten old tub, but she was the best 
to be had at that time. About a dozen Castine men were on her, 
among them Charlie Clark, who had just married one of those smart 
Hatch girls. At this time his wife was "off the Neck" visiting rela- 
tives and Charles' brother Will went off to see her. He tried to get 
her to come back to the village, urging that he was going off on the 
"Juliet" the next week, and that she write a letter to her husband, 
which he would take, as he would see Charles either at Bay Chaleurs 
or the Magdalen Islands. Sarah told him to come off two days later 
and she would have her letter ready. 

On Saturday Will went off again, taking his sister with him. He 
insisted that his sister-in-law come back with them. He said, laugh- 
ing, "You may never see me again, for I am going on the 'Juliet,' 
and she is getting a black eye just now in the village." So Sarah 
walked in with Will and his sister. 

As they got to the top of Windmill Hill, they saw a man just 
about the build of Will Clark standing at the corner of Perkins field 
at the edge of the road. It was almost dusk and they thought he was 
someone they knew waiting for them, but when they got almost up to 
him, he turned and walked slowly in the middle of the road down 
State Street hill. If Will walked fast, so did the stranger; if he 
slowed up in his pace, so did the other. Will called out to him, 
"Hold on a minute! I want to speak to you." But he made no 
answer. He was in front of Ord way's cottage, and all three were 
looking at him, when, like a flash, he disappeared. No one saw which 
way he went ; it was as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up. 

The girls ran, pale and frightened, into Mrs. Clark's kitchen, 
where she was frying buckwheat cakes for a late supper for them. 
With teeth chattering they told her what they had seen. She said it 
was an apparition. She remembered her grandmother saw one just 
before her youngest son was shot in the War of 1812. She thought 
probably second sight ran in the family. Just then Minetta came in, 
and, all three talking at the same time, the girls and Will told their 
story to her. 

As can be seen readily, when Ned Brown went to say good-bye to 
Minetta Hodsdon, he found her very nervous. She had heard the 
various stories that the men would not ship a second time. That 
very day Josiah Hatch had refused to ship, for fear he would not 
come back from a second trip. Minetta cried and told Ned she had 
not meant to cast evil on the "Juliet" by what she had said before the 
launching. She tried her best to persuade him not to go. She did 
not know a Brown, however, when he had made up his mind to go to 
sea. 

Ned Brown was a general favorite in town. He was tall, well- 
built and light-haired, like all the rest of the Brown family. He had 
smiling blue eyes, a frank mouth, in fact, he was a good, wholesome 



The Luck of the Juliet 59 

lad, with honest face and cheerful disposition. He feared neither 
man nor devil. Unlike most seafaring men, he had not the slightest 
particle of superstition in his makeup. He only laughed at 
Minetta's fears and said, "Don't worry, Netta. There's nothing in 
it. What shall I bring you home for a wedding present, if I stop in 
Boston or Portland? Remember, our wedding is to be in December, 
sure. ' ' 

Minetta blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers, and, laugh- 
ing between her tears, replied, "All right, Ned, I'll be ready Decem- 
ber 31st." 

A trip to the Gulf of St. Lawrence meant very little to Ned, 
with one brother taking trips to Hong Kong and another brother to 
South America. The Browns belonged to a sea-faring line. His 
grandfather, a Scotchman, went to sea and his own father followed 
the sea until he was injured in some sort of a naval scrap at Gibraltar. 
Then he came to Castine and went into business. He was a fine old 
man, very well read, and could spout page after page of Walter 
Scott's novels and Bobby Burns' poetry. His wife, Ned's mother, 
was the salt of the earth and fully as necessary, as she comforted and 
sympathized with all the town's afflicted. 

After Ned left Minetta, she went over to the old Gay house to see 
John Snowman's little wife. She found her a sorry-looking object, as 
she had cried so much that her eyes looked like two burnt holes in a 
blanket. She was all broken up at the thought of John's leaving 
her. She, too, felt that it was to be an unlucky voyage. Bad luck 
seemed to be in a whisper floating in the air for those who would 
listen to it. John thought his wife hysterical, but was very kind and 
gentle with her, as she expected to become a mother late in October. 
He considered her nervousness entirely owing to her condition. He 
felt it was hard for her, as she was only a young girl, and he wished 
he could remain at home. But he needed the money and he needs 
must go. He left her sobbing on the shoulder of Netta, who prom- 
ised to take good care of her. 

The personnel of the "Juliet's" crew was made up almost entirely 
of young men. There was Captain Sylvester and his boy. In a fish- 
ing trip like this there is not much authority in the captain. AU 
the men own in the vessel and in one sense they are all captains, but 
one man has to handle the papers and be known at the custom-house 
as the captain. The list of men was : Ned and Andy Brown, Joseph 
Bowden and his son, Sam Perkins, Wells Wardwell, John Sawyer, 
Ira Wescott from North Castine, Perkins Hutchings, Cyrus Ward- 
well, Charles Eaton, Edward Clark and his brother, and Will Clark, 
a cousin, and two Snowman brothers, John and Frank. 

The "Juliet" left Deer Isle about the first of August and that 
very night Mrs. Clark, Will's mother, dreamed that she saw the 
"Juliet" on a great rocky reef, with her hull raised high in the air 
and her broken mast buried in the sand. Her daughter-in-law. 



60 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Sarah, dreamed of seven white horses in a row in their stable, which 
was a sure sign of disaster to some member of the family. 

* # # 

"He will take his toll, he will take his toll. Mark my words, the 
monster hunts for his victim to-night," chanted old Granny Goode- 
uow, as she hobbled along the beach in front of her snug little cabin, 
picking here and there a stray bit of driftwood, just the right length 
for her small kitchen stove. She was speaking to that rough old sea 
dog, mariner Ebenezer Mann, as he sawed for a fireplace a few big 
drift logs, which she had rolled away from the incoming tide. 

"Yer right, yer right, granny," groaned Ebenezer, as he 
straightened out his game leg and rested from his labors. "When 
the wind blaws up from Cape Rozier and th' water moans over 
Naut'lus bar, look out fer a storm before dawn, if the sky-line is 
streaked with lemin color and perpul, as 'tis ter-night. It war jest 
sech a night as this when th' British bark 'Jane' war wrecked on 
Trott's flats." 

Granny and Captain Ebenezer had cabins side by side on Oakum 
Bay at the north end of the town. Neighbors for these forty years, 
since her husband and his wife departed from this vale of tears, they 
had found it possible each to aid the other in such a manner as 
partly to mitigate the loss each had suffered. Many a darned sock 
bore testimony to Granny's skill with the needle, and never a batch 
of doughnuts went into its crock without half of it being left at the 
mariner's door. The sawing of driftwood, the loan of a daily paper 
and a portion of his sea catch proved equally his neighborly interest. 

As Minetta carefully picked her way over the wet stones of the 
beach and climbed the breakwater into the old shipyard, she heard 
the words of the two old people. She wondered what they muttered 
over; who was the monster, what the toll, and where the victim. She 
was hurrying home before the gathering storm. She had been across 
the river to Polly Coot's Cove, to gather there some big white scallop 
shells. She expected five of her girl friends to supper the following 
evening and she needed some big shells in which to serve the devilled 
lobster. Their negro cook at the tavern served it like crab meat and 
lobster was much cheaper. 

As she reached the house the wind and spray were dashing madly 
against the front windows. The rain was already descending in tor- 
rents. She ran up to the big front room, which was hers at this 
season of the year. There she lighted a fire in the big fireplace. As 
she changed her wet shoes and stockings and dried her damp skirts 
before the glowing blaze, she cast every now and then a furtive glance 
out over the black and angry bay. Whenever the house shook in the 
strong teeth of the gale, she shivered and murmured, "God lookout 
for those we love who are on the sea to-night." 

She could not sleep during the two days that the sea lashed the 
coast and hurled its defiance. Others besides Minetta wondered 



The Luck of the Juliet 61 

what was happening north of them and how the little fishing fleet 
would stand it at the mercy of the pitiless sea. 

w « « 

The "Morning Star" left Castine two weeks earlier than the 
"Juliet Tilden." She carried a crew of Castine men only. She 
got one fare of fish and made for the Gut of Canso. At Ship Har- 
bor she shipped her fish to East Boston and then went to the Bay of 
Chaleurs for another fare. After she had secured about three- 
fourths of a load, as the fishing was not very brisk, slie sailed 
down to the Magdalen Islands to try her luck there. She arrived 
Sunday, September 30th. She went into Pleasant Bay under a gor- 
geous sunset of lemon and purple clouds. 

The Magdalen Islands form a sort of bay. Coffin Island, long 
and narrow, lies along the northern boundary. To the southeast is 
Entry Island big and rounded ; at the north it grows narrower, and 
from the end of it a long reef, or hook, makes out; the southern 
boundary is another large island, called Amherst Island. This, too, 
has a big, rocky reef, which stretches out toward p]ntry Island. Be- 
tween the two reefs is a narrow passage, not safe to try unless you 
have an experienced pilot at the wheel. Connecting Amherst Island 
with Coffin Island on the west is a long line of sandy or rocky islets, 
which, from their shape, are called Sugar Loaf. The entrance to 
this group is at the northeastern end. 

When the "Morning Star" came into Pleasant Bay, a fleet of one 
hundred and fifty sail lay anchored the whole length of Amherst 
Island. Many of the vessels were from Cape Ann and Cape Cod, 
but the greater part were from Maine. They were all anchored sin- 
gle, the usual arrangement, to prevent their running afoul if the 
anchors drag in a blow. The "Star" tacked across the bay and chose 
a berth second from the Amherst reef. As luck would have it, the 
"Juliet Tilden" was the first in the line. 

The boys of the "Morning Star" were very glad to go aboard 
the "Juliet" to get the home letters and news and swap a little sea 
gossip. The crew of the "Juliet" had had pretty good luck, so they 
intended to fish here for only a few days and then start for home. 
It was rather late in the season and storms were likely to brew right 
away. The crew of the "Morning Star" stayed aboard the "Juliet" 
until nearly midnight. As they went over the side of the "Juliet" 
into their yawl-boat, they looked off to the north and saw great black 
clouds gathering. Ned Brown called down to them, "Looks as if it 
might rain any minute. I guess we're going to have the biggest blow 
some of us have ever seen." 

Those were the last words from the "Juliet." 

In half an hour it was raining torrents and blowing a living gale 
from the north-northeast. The crew of the "Star" feared they 
might drag their anchors and go ashore, so they got under way and 



S2 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

beat across ; then they hove her short, put in three reefs, and waited 
for the "Juliet" to get under way, which she did at once. They 
saw her fill away to the east toward the sandy hook. The ''Star" 
filled away to the east on the same tack. As soon as she got head- 
way enough to come in stays, they tacked ship again, and kept tack- 
ing for two mortal hours. Never had the schooner labored in the 
seas as she did that night. As soon as the first gray glimmer of dawn 
revealed their bearings, the "Star" crept up under Coffin Island and 
anchored. The waves were already mast-head high. They could see 
the rest of the fleet anchoring in the lee of the island, which broke 
the edge of the sea. 

About nine o'clock Monday morning they told the cook to go be- 
low and get breakfast. He came up directly, thoroughly frightened, 
and said he could not keep the pots and pans on the galley stove. 
As the captain was afraid of fire, he told him to batten down the 
hatch and leave everything snug below ship. All this time the gale 
kept growing. Ferdinand Devereux, who was one of the crew, said 
he had sailed south many years, but he had never met any hurricane 
that came up to this. They threw out life lines about the cabin and 
lashed themselves to them. From nine o'clock Monday morning till 
noon on Wednesday they did not have a thing to eat or drink. At 
one time it was necessary to take axes and stave in the bulwarks to 
let the water run off and ease the vessel or it would have been buried 
by the waves swamping it. It was a fearful sight to look up and see 
one of those great green combers towering mountain high above and 
the next moment to feel it break over them and try to dash the old 
"Star" to the bottom of the bay. 

Wednesday noon the wind went down as quickly as it came up on 
Sunday night. The sea was beautiful and serene. All the fleet got 
under way and made sail out of the bay to some islands off to the 
eastward of Entry Island, to finish up their fare, as they were only 
three-fourths full of fish. 

Now a strange thing happened. Explain it who can. All the 
rest of the hundred and fifty sail went to the eastward, supposing the 
"Juliet" was with them. The "Star" sailed out of the harbor at the 
same time, but when the others took the tack east they tacked due 
south. No one remembered who was at the wheel. Not a word was 
spoken. They just went along the east coast of Entry Island down 
south of Amherst. The crew always thought God's hand was on the 
tiller. They went under the lee of Amherst Island, to put a reef 
in their mainsail. It was about dusk, when Bill Eaton and a 
Thombs boy. both about fourteen years old, were fooling with the 
ship's spy-glass. One of them shouted, "There's a vessel wrecked 
on that reef." The other boy snatched away the glass and looked 
through it. "By gum, it's the 'Juliet Tilden'!" By this time it was 
too dark to make sure. They lowered their yawl boat, but could not 
get near the reef and the water roared so that they could hear noth- 



The Luck of the Juliet 63 

ing from the wreck. A man on the beach, some distance to the west- 
ward, told them at dawn to go to a certain small port, where they 
could find a good pilot to take them through the dangerous passage 
between the two islands to the spot where the vessel lay. 

The storm had been so great that the island folk had not been able 
to get off to help the wrecked sailors. All night long the watch saw 
lanterns moving along the beach. Early the next morning thej'^ took 
the pilot aboard the "Star," and he steered them inside the reef, 
where, sure enough, was the "Juliet," with her hull in the air and 
her broken mast buried in the sand, exactly as Mrs. Clark had seen 
it in her dream two months before. 

They lay off Harbor Lebar nine days and in that time picked up 
the battered bodies of the Castine boys, the flower of young manhood. 
Some were changed beyond all recognition by the cruel buffeting of 
the sea. They found poor Perk Ilutchins lashed to the cabin, but 
the pounding of the sea had very nearly worn through the strands 
of a brand-new cable. Captain Sylvester was found lying face down 
in his oilskin helmet, which was full of blood, and both eyeballs were 
resting on his cheeks. Ed Clark was apparently the last to leave 
the vessel and was found under the upturned yawl-boat. 

The government had appointed a man at Pictou to look out for 
uTecked sailors. He and the Catholic priest, as well as the minister 
of the Church of England, were very kind and helpful. The houses 
on Amherst Island are built very low posted, a case of preparedness 
against the fearful gales of that region. In one of those little low 
houses, ten rough timbered hemlock coffins were lying in a row wait- 
ing for the burial service. The priest allowed them to be buried on 
the edge of the Catholic cemetery, which was much more convenient 
if any of the bodies w-ere to be taken up later and shipped to Maine. 

They telegraphed from Pictou the news of the disaster to Castine. 
They remained a few days longer hoping to find Will Clark's body, 
which was not found till three weeks later, in a ravine up among the 
Sugar Loaf Islands. 

Ned Brown looked the most natural of them all. He had a sweet 
smile about his mouth, just as he often looked when he was thinking 
about Minetta. They brought what treasures they could find for 
the families — a knife, or a ring, or a watch. In Ned's pocket was 
found a little silver locket, which he had bought in Halifax to take 

home to Minetta. 

* « * 

The old Castine House had a beautiful stairway. It w^as the envy 
of all the townsfolk. Its reputation was known around the State, 
and people would go to the tavern just to see the old stairs. It was 
much like those in the celebrated Salem houses. Minetta was slowly 
descending the stairs with a big bunch of pink asters in her hand, 
which she was going to put on the desk in the office. Just then two 



64 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

travelling men came in. One of them said to the other, "I've been 
over to the telegraph office to send a telegram. The operator had just 
received a message from a man on board the 'Morning Star' telling 
of the awful wreck of the 'Juliet Tilden.' " 

Minetta dropped her asters all along the stairs. She ran up to 
the stranger, took him by the shoulder, sort of shook him and said, 
"Was Ned Brown saved?" The man not realizing what it all meant 
to her said, "Not a soul on board lived to tell the story." A great 
flood of color surged up to Minetta 's cheeks then she went white as 
a sheet, and in a moment more was lying, a little crumpled heap, at 
the stranger's feet. 

She was carried to her bed and did not leave it for two weeks ; and 
she would not then have done so. had she not heard that while she 
was lying heart-broken, caring for nothing in this world, Ethel 
Snowman's little baby was born prematurely the night they told 
her the news of her husband's death. 

Perhaps it was the best thing for Minetta, because it roused her 
from her stupor of despair. "Wrapped in each other's arms the two 
young girls poured out their grief. From that time Minetta took 
almost as much care of the baby as did Ethel. 

Minetta became more and more subdued. She looked frail and 
delicate. She loved to climb around the rocks at Dice's Head. The 
neighbors said they often came across her sitting on the beach look- 
ing out to sea, her big violet eyes full of unshed tears. 

About five years after, Captain Hodsdon had a good chance to 
sell his hotel to a mining man, who paid him a fancy price, and with 
his daughters he moved out of town. 

Mrs. Juliet Tilden, for whom the schooner had been named, had 
never been strong and the constant terror under which she suffered 
while her husband was imprisoned during the Rebellion, had weak- 
ened her constitution. Now, under the weight of this fresh disaster 
to the schooner and the gloom that enshrouded the whole town, she 
faded away, like a beautiful flower crushed by a ruthless heel. 

Under cover of the beautiful serenity of the town lie these griefs 
hidden in the hearts that never forget. If one probes deep enough, 
he will discover the unhealed wound in the heart of many a maid, 
wife, or mother. Oh, these mothers by the sea ! Their tear-washed 
eyes and thin white hands clasped in prayer attest the tragedy of 
their lives. They hate the sea, and yet they love the sea and cannot 
live without it. 




MARTHA SMITH OF BERWICK 



Martha Smith of Berwick 

By CORA BELLE BICKFORD 

Foreword. 

This is the first time that the story of Martha Smith of Berwick has been 
ofifered for publication. It has been obtained only through much research 
among personal papers, in church records, in state archives, and it should be 
said that descendants living in Massacliuetts to-day have helped to make pos- 
sible the gathering of this material. The story, connected as it is with his- 
toric happenings that so greatly affected the lives of colonial representatives 
of rival nations in the New World, is of far more than local interest, while 
the heroic endurance of this pioneer mother must forever remain a monument 
to the true worth of Woman. C. B. B. 




N A PERFECT June morning in the year 1677, a bridal 
party lingered before the open door of the log house 
of Thomas Mills of Wells. The house, on an elevation 
of land, stood well back from the highway that, by the 
order of the court,^ had just been completed at the out- 
break of King Philip's War. This road, leading from 
Saco to York, was continued along the coast that it might 
better protect the inhabitants, in their necessary journeys, from sud- 
den attacks of the Indians, at the same time giving easy access to 
the ocean by means of the rivers and streams that flowed seaward. 
With this consideration it had been continued even to the center of 
habitation in the province of Massachusetts, and with the yearly 
growth of the colonies it was coming to be much travelled. 

The house faced a broad clearing through which one could see a 
stretch of sparkling blue ocean with broken hillocks and ridges of 
sand, heaped here and there by the action of the winds, serving as a 
barrier to encroaching waves that broke in long lines of feathery 
whiteness at their feet. On either side of the clearing were forest 
slopes clothed with varied shades of green, the soft, light foliage of 
the birches and poplars contrasting with the richer coloring of the 
maples and elms and these, in turn, clearly defined against a darker 
background of pines and firs. 

A light southwest breeze was abroad. It came hurrying up the 
hill, gently tossing balsamic odors gathered from the woodland, the 
delicate fragrance of wild blossoms and a salty exhilaration that 
could have been the gift of none other than old ocean. Stirring the 
grass leaves of the soft green sward in front of the house it crossed 
to a belated crab-apple tree, rosy with bloom, and, rouguishly shaking 

^Bourne's History of Wells and Kennebunk, page 115. 



68 The Trail of the Mame Pioneer 

its branches, sent down a shower of tinted petals upon the head of 
the young bride standing directly beneath, then passed on to pay its 
respects to the garden-plot at the side of the house. 

In this garden-plot grew mullein pinks, bouncing bets and daf- 
fodils. Hollyhocks were sending up tall, pale-green stalks and 
leafing marigolds were getting ready to flower. There was southern- 
wood, too, with its clean, pungent odor, or lad's love, gillyflower and 
larkspur already in bud with violets and sweet herbs. It was a gar- 
den that in its simplicity reminded one of old England, for Thomas 
Mills, Exeter-born, had brought from Devonshire, then as now the 
garden spot of the British Isles, a true love for flowers. Having 
obtained his grant, he cleared the land, but before he built his house, 
he tucked seeds away in the rich brown earth, seeds that were the 
most precious treasure brought from his old home across the sea. 
These sprang up and blossomed, giving in turn seeds for newer gar- 
dens, each year's blooms vying in brilliancy with those of the year 
before. 

The most distinguished member of that wedding party was Rev. 
Shubael Dummer of York who, less than two hours before, had per- 
formed the ceremony that had given Martha Mills to be the wife of 
James Smith of Berwick. He had been sent for, rather than John 
Buss, physician-preacher, who for such duties was usually called by 
the people of Wells among whom he labored. But at that time the 
name of John Buss^ was under a cloud and Thomas Mills was a 
proud man. He was proud that he was an Englishman, prouder 
that in his adventurous trip to the New World he had acquired such 
considerable property, but proudest of this daughter than whom 
there was not one fairer for many a mile. This was the last thing 
he could do for her in his own home and he meant that there should 
be sufficient dignity attending the marriage, a dignity he felt 
was well sustained when he looked at the Rev. Dummer in his wig 
and gown. 

Mary Mills, the mother, another one of the group, possessed a 
pride of quite a different nature. Had she not trained this daughter 
until no bride ever went forth to her new home more richly dowered 
with practical knowledge ? No one could turn a smoother web from 
the loom; she had taught her the art of soap-making as she had 
learned it in the home town of Bristol. Martha could cook an In- 
dian cake, fry a fish^ and roast potatoes in the ashes to perfection, 
dishing up as economical and appetizing a meal as ever hungry man 
sat down to. With her needle she was deft; and arts that her 
mother had learned in England had been taught her, so that her wed- 

^Bourne's History of Weils and Kennebunk, pages 165-166. 

•"Next to fish, the early colonists found in Indian corn their most unfailing 
food supply. — Customs and Fashions in Old Nciv England, Alice Morse Earle, 
Page 148. 



Martha Smith of Berwick 69 

ding gown boasted a border that well might be the admiration of any- 
colonial girl. Mary 's pride reached its height when she thought of the 
marriage Martha had made. James Smith of Barwic had held his 
grant nine years, 40 rods of land on the Newichawannock river and 
more than 100 acres in all. The home to which he was to take his 
bride was one of the most substantial and best furnished in that set- 
tlement, much of the furniture having been made by the groom's 
own hands. Then he had come for Martha, sitting straight and 
strong on his horse ; and she was to go away with him, sitting on the 
pillion behind, with some of the most precious of her dower stowed 
away in bags beneath. 

Martha could not know of the pride that was in her mother's 
heart, but she felt the comfortableness of being approved. Her wed- 
ding gown of fiax-colored linen had a pattern in scarlet thread 
worked above the hem of the full skirt; the thread dyed after a 
formula given by a friendly Indian before the outbreak of 1675. 
The close-fitting cap that covered her head and from beneath which 
a rippling strand of sunny brown hair had escaped was of the same 
material, the same scarlet border giving it becomingness. Her low 
shoes, the gift of her father, had leather soles with tops of cloth, fit- 
ting so neatly that hem of gown never cleared a trimmer-turned foot 
and instep. "With fresh complexion, deeply tinted cheeks and lips 
and clear grey eyes sparkling with hope and courage, she was, in- 
deed, a comely bride. 

Beneath one heel of her shapely foot a piece of southernwood was 
being crushed, for Martha remembered that : 

One who hides within her shoe 
A piece of southernwood or two, 

May hope to meet 

Pleasant experiences. 

Another member of that bridal party was Thomas Mills, Jr., a 
lad of sixteen years, who had been watching the others with sober 
countenance and responding to the request of little Mary, scarce 
eleven, who had been coaxing him from the shelter of her mother's 
skirts to break some branches from the apple tree. 

But now the time had come to go and Martha gave her hand to 
her father, curtesied low to the Rev. Shubael Dummer and touched 
her mother's cheek lightly with her lips. It was her brother's turn 
next and, drawing down his head, she whispered something in his 
ear which caused him to blush and brought a smile to his serious lips. 
Now it was little Mary's turn, but she did not wait for Martha to 
make the first advance. Throwing her arms about her sister's neck, 
she held her while she pushed the stem of a cluster of apple-blossoms 



70 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

beneath the border of her cap. Then, releasing her, she tucked an- 
other spray into the fastening of her bodice, whispering: 

''It is for my sister and I love her." 

It was all so quickly done, and Martha's eyes filled with tears as 
she drew her little sister to her with a tender caress. 

There was no longer time for delay; for the sun was climbing 
high in the heavens and the day would be well spent before the new 
home in Barwic would be reached. James Smith followed his wife 
in his good-byes to the family and the reverend gentleman, then, lift- 
ing Martha to the pillion, he sprang up in front of her and down the 
hill they rode together with backward waving of hands until they 
came to the little bridge at the level of the highway, where the water 
of a bubbling spring went trickling away to find companionship in 
some near-by brook. 

Here willows fringed the road and just before James Smith and 
Martha passed beneath their branches, Mary Mills suddenly and 
adroitly turned the attention of the group on the hill in the opposite 
direction by exclaiming: "Look, Thomas, what makes the breeze 
shake the pine tree so strangel}^?" 

Then she could not suppress a smile at the thought that her ruse 
had been so successful. While the day with its beautiful weather 
was good omen, it would never do to watch a dear one out of sight ; 
no good luck would be likely to follow. 

And ]\Iartha Smith, respecting her mother's superstition, did not 
look back when they had reached the willows. Turning her face res- 
olutely away from the privilege of a last glance at her old home and 
the familiar faces, she looked straight before her and so rode with 
her husband, away and across country. 

# # * 

Settlers of Berwick, to-da.y an important town of York County, 
Maine, were, many of them, adventurers. Influenced by rumors of 
the great wealth of the New World and eager themselves to be acquir- 
ing earthly possessions, they had crossed the Atlantic to cast in their 
lot with other as hazardous fortune-seekers as themselves. In many 
cases the fortune materialized and the young man soon found himself 
proprietor of wooded acres and mayhap a clearing in which stood 
the house that was to be the home of his future bride. 

To this last class belonged James Smith. His first grant of land, 
recorded in 1668, showed that it lay on the east bank of the Newicha- 
wannock, along the river for an eighth of a mile, then running inland 
with wooded slopes and outbreaking rocky elevations. It v/as to this 
comfortable home, in a spot that he had cleared, a dozen rods or more 
from the river, that he took Martha, his bride. 

From the house the land dropped gently down to the water's 
edge where there was a small landing and during the open season a 



Martha Smith of Berwick 71 

small boat was usually hauled up on the shore or, perhaps, tugged 
at its moorings when the current was strongest. The river was al- 
ways flowing, flowing, on its way to the sea and its course was, far- 
ther on, through the marshes where it might be seen on a 
sunny summer day blue with tide-water, then moving on to be lost 
in the broad, consequential Piseataqua. 

It was this river view that Martha loved best of all on the farm, 
and she often stood at the side door of the home and looked away 
towards the southwest. As far as eye could see, she could follow the 
river in its course, then dream about it as it found its way into the 
restless ocean. The spirit of her ancestors flowed in her veins. Her 
thoughts were not held by the boundary of that ocean, and she often 
longed to see that other land about which her parents and husband 
talked. 

Yet she was content with her home and the life that it afforded. 
Like her husband, she was ambitious and whenever he came to 
her with the details of another profitable transaction, or talked to 
her of added acres, her heart responded sympathetically. No man 
loved an advantageous deal better than he, but he was a tiller of the 
soil, a laborer as his services were needed, and also a man of affairs. 
And while he worked out-of-doors Martha put the acquired skill of 
her girlhood to best account in the home. 

Scattered as were those colonial homes, there would have been 
many lonely lives had not the majority of the inhabitants looked up- 
on life philosophically, allowing happenings of whatsoever character, 
to entertain or amuse. The passing traveller brought the news ; and 
he was always welcome. He would tell of births, deaths, the findings 
of the court that dealt with the eccentricities or the short-comings 
of neighboring settlers — all a part of the panorama that fed curiositj^ 
and gave human interest to life. Such a visitor brought a gathering 
from the homes in the neighborhood and when gossip had been ex- 
changed all regaled themselves with blackberry wine and molasses 
cake. 

Occasionally a piece of news called forth general ridicule as when 
William Furbish* of Wells was reprimanded by the court for abus- 
ing his Majestie's authority (Charles II. of England) when he used 
opprobrious language in calling his officers "Devils and Hell- 
hounds." 

Sometimes indignation stirred the whole settlement. This was 
true when James Adams enticed the boys of Henry Simpson, as he 
believed, to their death. Building an enclosure of logs, inhanging 
so that they could not be scaled, he entrapped the lads there in the 
midst of a desolate forest. But they dug away the ground with their 

^Bourne's History of Wells and Kenncbunk, page I59- 



72 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

hands and escaped, finding their way back home after being without 
food and water for several days. 

John Wiucoll, who owned a farm farther up the Newichawan- 
nock, brought the news that the Simpson boys were liome, coming up 
the river in his flat-bottomed boat, shouting as he went along. 

*'Ho-ho, Simpson boys h-o-m-e ho-ho, Simpson boys h-o-m-e," 

all the way along, the settlers coming to the river bank to get the 
news, and to hear the finding of tlie court : 

James Adams, found guilty of bad and malicious temper and re- 
vengeful spirit to receive "30 stripes well laid on, to pay to the 
father of children of Henry Simpson 5 pounds each, to pay treasurer 
of county 10 pounds, and to remain close prisoner during the court's 
pleasure. ' '^ 

This was the most grievous offense for many years and the matter 
was talked of for many a day and month, often furnishing material 
for an entire evening's conversation when there had been no impor- 
tant happening for some time. 

Frequently conversation turned to the Indians, a common foe. 
King Philip 's war had carried desolation into all New England. Per- 
sistent fighting had subdued the savages in Massachusetts, Plymouth 
and Connecticut, but in New Hampshire and Maine the Indian hatred 
of the whites continued to express itself until the treaty of Casco in 
1678. 

The Indians of this region were principally collective tribes 
known as the Abenakis. The French, having established relations 
with them through the missionaries, saw their opportunity and seized 
it. They persuaded many of these distressed and exasperated sav- 
ages to leave the neighborhood of the English, migrate to Canada, 
where they settled first at Sillery, near Quebec, and then at the falls 
of Chaudiere. Jacques and Vincent Bigot were prime agents in their 
removal and took them in charge. Thus the missions of St. Francis 
became villages of Abenaki Christians," like the village of Iroquois 
Christians at Saut St. Louis. In both cases they were sheltered un- 
der the wing of Canada and their tomahawks were always at her 
service. But though many of the Abenakis joined these mission col- 
onies the great body of the tribes still clung to their homes on the 
Saco, the Kennebec and the Penobscot. 

But there were pleasures of a more wholesome nature to keep the 
settlers' minds well balanced. Sometimes Martha would ride down 
to York with James where they would cross the ferry at Goodman 
Hilton's, James swimming his horse across and Martha paying one 
penny to go by boat. On the other side Martha would mount again 
and they would go on to visit with the Moultons and the Littlefields. 

•'■'Bourne's History of Wells and Kennebunk, page i6o. 

^Parkman's Frontenac and New France under Louis XIV, page 226. 



Martha Smith of Berwick 73 

Sometimes the journey was made to Kittery where one got news 
direct from incoming ships and met friends coming over from Eng- 
land to settle. 

None in the settlement had a happier and more comfortable home 
life than Martha and James Smith with their sons and daughters 
about them. James, Jr., was the oldest and then came the daughters, 
Mary and Elizabeth. Baby John, born July 26, 1685, was the young- 
est. When he was nearly five Martha was 37, yet the years sat 
lightly upon her. She was a woman of great attraction, as the per- 
sonal charm of girlhood blossomed into the full beauty of mother- 
hood. 

So the life of the colony drifted along until the winter of 1689- 
1690, a season of so much snow that travel was greatly interrupted. 
The heavy drifts kept the women and children housed and the men 
loved to gather about open fires of logs piled high and relate deeds 
of prowess as they had heard them both in the New World and the 
Old. In December news came of the forts taken on the Kennebec, 
the 16th of November, but the extreme cold and snow lulled the in- 
habitants at Salmon Falls and Berwick into a sense of security. They 
believed that they were so near the coast, and within such easy com- 
munication with Massachusetts that all would be well with them, 
though the Indians were abroad. 

So little precaution did they take that the one fortified house was 
not occupied and no watch was kept at either of the stockaded forts. 
The gate of one of the stockades hung by one hinge, left open by a 
miscreant youth when the first snow came in the fall ; and pushed by 
the winds and the drifts and weighted by the snows that fell upon it, 
it sagged out of usefulness and waited for spring to come that it 
might be repaired. 

The year 1690 came with no change and thus passed the months 
of January and February. March was blustering and stormy for 
the first two weeks, but spring set in early. The soft winds helped 
the sun, running higher and higher, to start the burden of snow; the 
men roused themselves from the lethargy caused by the extreme 
rigors of the winter and the housewives were thinking of spring work 
in homes and gardens. 

The 26th of March was a day like to summer with its blue sky and 
balmy air. The marshes lay warm in the sun, and the river, free to 
make its way to the sea, was bearing along the last portions of the 
icy rim that for weeks had marked its outline. 

Martha Smith came often to the door that March morning. She 
watched Baby John at his play, building ditches and sluiceways that 
the water might drain off to the river, and she came again when he 
called : "IMother, come see." She came to direct Mary and Elizabeth 
how to push the leaves away to see if the daffodils were coming up, 
and once she stopped to call to the son, James, telling him, as he hur- 



74 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

ried away in the direction of the nearby woodlot, that dinner would 
be ready a half hour earlier than usual. 

In the evening twilight she came again to linger long, watching 
the lights as they faded from the western sky. A mist came creep- 
ing up from the sea, there was a delicious saltness in the air and — 
what was that she heard, a bullfrog croaking in the marshes? — It 
had sounded strangely like an Indian call and a great fear clutched 
her heart for the moment. Somehow she had felt a strange unrest 
all day although there was so much of spring in the air and life 
seemed full of hope. Surely there was nothing to fear and she 
turned to prepare the children for bed, for all had promised them- 
selves to be up early next morning. 

* * * 

"Pas de quartier aux Anglais!" 

' ' Nous plantons la croix de Jesus ! ' ' 

"Nous gagnons au nom de Frontenac et de Nouvelle France!" 

The oaths rang out on the frosty air while the little bell in the 
chapel of Saint Francois echoed these pledges with clear, ringing 
strokes. On that winter morning wives and mothers had gathered 
on the shores of the Saint Francis river to greet the expedition as it 
came across from Three Rivers and passed on its way up the St. 
Francis, stopping only long enough for oaths to be renewed. 
Though there were many heavy hearts among the watchers on the 
shore, no tears were shed ; for was it not for France and a holy caiise 
that the sacrifice was being made? 

Of the three parties of picked men sent out by Count Frontenac,'^ 
governor-general of Canada under Louis XIV. of France, in the year 
1690, one was formed at Montreal, one at Three Rivers and one at 
Quebec. The first was to fall upon Albany, the second to direct its 
efforts against the border settlements of New Hampshire and the 
third to attack the settlement in Maine. By the glorious achieve- 
ments of these expeditions directed against the English, under the 
combined forces of the French and Indians, Count Frontenac was 
to retrieve his fallen fortune. He was to aim a blow at his enemies 
that would help him to reclaim his allies and restore to him suf- 
ficient glory to demand the respect and special recognition of his sov- 
ereign who had once severely criticised him. 

The second of these expeditions, aimed at New Hampshire, left 
Trois Rivieres on the morning of the 28th of January and was com- 
manded by Francois Hertel. It was made up of 24 French, 20 
Abenakis of the Sokoki band and five Algonquins. In part, the 
French w^ere young sons of landed proprietors who held seigniories 

■'Count Frontenac, the most remarkable man who ever represented the 
crown of France in the New World. — Parkman's Frontenac and Nciv France 
■under Louis XIV. 



Martha Smith of Berwick 75 

along the St. Lawrence and her tributary streams. In the company, 
too, were Hertel's three sons and his two nephews, Nicholas Gatineau 
and Louis Crevier. 

A prominent figure of this expedition was young Louis Crevier, 
oldest son of Jean Crevier, who held a large seigniory at Saint-Fran- 
eois-du-Lac and he was the pride and the hope of the house of 
Crevier, Both strong and brave, he already had training in the at- 
tacks made by the relentless Iroquois who looked upon the Algon- 
quins and their friends as eternal enemies. But this expedition lay 
far away from home and one heart was sad because of the departure. 
The seigneuresse of Saint-Francois-du-Lac yearned over this, her 
eldest born now living. During the days of preparation she prayed 
often in the village chapel and many times a day before the crucifix, 
and to the Blessed Mother she sent up hourly petitions that her boy 
might be safely returned to her. She saw that the scapnla he had 
worn upon his breast since his first communion was attached to a 
newer cord of leather and she hid a tiny Agnus Dei in the inner 
pocket of his blanket jacket. She aided every preparation and at 
the moment of departure she placed her hands upon the shoulders 
of her boy and looked long into his eyes. Then he realized that he 
had his mother's blessing. 

The party, leaving the village, moved up the St. Francis river to 
Lake Memphremagog, marching by long day journeys, though the 
conditions were much against them, and the heavy snows of winter 
a great handicap. From the lake they struck into the Upper Con- 
necticut valley, then swung off to the southeast and headed for the 
coast. At night they camped under vigilant watch, for enemies were 
ever abroad and the winds might carry secrets. 

They marched on snowshoes, each man with the hood of his 
blanket-coat drawn over his head, a gun in his mittened hand, knife, 
hatchet, powder-horn, bullet-pouch and tobacco-bag at his belt, a 
pack on his shoulders and the inseparable pipe hung at his neck in 
a leather case. The provisions they dragged over the snow on Indian 
sledges. The Abenakis took the lead ; they knew the way well. So 
they pressed on, day after day, winter storms and melting snows 
retarding their speed, until it was two months before they came to 
the outskirts of the frontier settlements they sought — Salmon Falls 
and Berwick.* 

On the evening of the 26th of March they lay hidden in the for- 
est that bordered the farms and clearings. Scouts were sent out to 
reconnoitre and found a fortified house unoccupied and two stock- 
aded forts, built as a refuge for the scattered settlers, but no watch 
in either. The way looked so easy that Hertel passed the remainder 

®Parkman's History of Frontenac and New France under Louis XIV,. 
Chapter XI. 



76 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

of the night putting his party into three divisions and in giving full 
directions as to movements. 

The attacks came just before break of day when the settlers were 
still deep in slumber, and the onsets were simultaneous. It was the 
hush before the dawn when the air was pierced by the first terrify- 
ing yell ; then all was confusion. With no one on watch at the forts, 
there was no one to give the alarm and when the French and Indians 
burst in upon them with fiendish outcries that seemed to set the very 
stars in heaven vibrating, the settlers were paralyzed with fear, una- 
ble even to gather for defense. It was a short struggle; the assail- 
ants were successful at every point. 

It would be impossible to describe the horrors of that massacre. 
Thirty persons of both sexes and all ages were tomahawked or shot, 
among them the husband of Martha Smith. Her oldest boy, James, 
escaped. It may be that her two daughters were killed. But 
Martha herself, with her little son John, not yet five years old, was 
among the forty persons carried into captivity. The foes then 
turned their attention to the scattered farms, burned houses, barns 
and cattle, laying the whole place in ashes. It took only a few hours 
to accomplish the deed, and when the sun was still high in the 
heavens preparations for the return march were made. Already was 
the expedition headed for Canada when two Indian scouts brought 
the word that a party of English was advancing from Portsmouth 
and the march was quickened. But the French and Indians were 
overtaken at Wooster river, a few miles up the Newichawannoek. 
There was a brisk engagement at nightfall in which, besides an In- 
dian, young Louis Crevier, the oldest son of the house of Saint- 
Francois-du-Lae, was killed. There was no time even to consider 
the dead and wounded ; with the recruited body of settlers pressing 
hard, the retreat continued. 

Then began that cruel march towards Canada. The captives, in- 
sufficiently protected, shivering with cold and suffering from hunger 
upon that long tramp, were forced through melting snows nearly to 
their knees, through mud and water, over long, icy stretches. If the 
weak fell by the way, they were tomahawked; the laggards were 
prodded on by the thought of the frightful death that might await 
them, and even the bravest grew so sick and weary that every breath 
was a cry to God to save. Almost blinded by the snow, with hands 
and feet chilled almost to freezing, with they knew not what before 
them, they kept on. 

Among the bravest of these was Martha Smith. During all the 
scenes that had taken from her loved ones and home, no weak 
cry had escaped her lips. The fortitude that had been hers in every 
circumstance of her life, stood by her now. She carried herself with 
a dignity that must have impressed even the savage brutes who held 




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Martha Smith of Berwick 77 

her prisoner. Unflinchingly she looked straight into the faces of her 
foes and, day after day, holding little John in her arms or letting 
him trot by her side, went resolutely on. She saw her friends and 
neighbors struck to their death ; she watched the weak grow weaker 
and the sobs of little children filled her heart with fierce pain, yet 
her enemy did not know; she was still unconquered. 

It may be that this apparent fearlessness had saved her life and 
little John 's on that fatal 27th of March. While he was sobbing out 
his baby wails of "Mother! Mother!" she bent over him, hushing his 
cries, and telling him that nothing should hurt him. Then, straight- 
ening up, she had looked straight into the infuriated face of a sav- 
age with tomahawk uplifted. But behind the face of the Indian 
was that of Louis Crevier and the arm was arrested before it had 
time to strike the blow. 

In the retreat Hertel led his men and their captives to an 
Abenaki village far up on the Kennebec, very likely where Norridge- 
wock is to-day. Here they got word that Frontenac's third expedi- 
tion, that had been directed against Casco, had lately passed south- 
ward and the French leader and 36 of his followers started out to 
join them, leaving the captives in the Indian village until their 
return. 

It was this period of rest that saved many of the heart-sick cap- 
tives; for when the last lap of that journey towards Canada was 
begun, summer was at hand and the way was less hazardous. The 
season brought with it warm winds, sunny skies and beauties of 
nature that for a time diverted the thoughts from the sorrows of the 
past few months. 

What would be their destination when the end of the journey 
was reached, was an unanswered question among the captives and 
Martha could not have known that she was to be taken to the home 
of the dead Louis Crevier. Since this was so, it is evident that she 
was to have been his special prize. By an unwritten law of such 
forays, each man of the expedition, Frenchman or savage, was given 
one captive as his personal property. These captives were not pris- 
oners of war but "esclaves" (slaves), being simply a part of the 
booty, thus accounting for the wide distribution of prisoners once 
they reached Canada. This, also, explains why so many of them 
were left in Indian villages. 

It was well that Martha could not foresee the result of that jour- 
ney since it was to offer her the last drop in her cup of bitterness; 
when fifty miles from Montreal and some miles from Saint-Francois, 
Baby John was taken from her. That she was allowed to take him 
in her arms and whisper a good-bye instruction to be a good boy and 
not cry, but to do as his leader told him, was through the kindness 
of Hertel, himself, a privilege for which she felt always thankful. 



78 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

But her heart was breaking. What mattered it now what the future 
had in store for her? 

That the lord and lady of the Seigniory knew of the returning 
of the expedition, hours before it arrived, was evident, for a swift 
messenger had been sent on ahead. Since the late spring they had 
known the fate of their boy ; their nephew, Louis G-atineau, had been 
sent on as a government courier to tell them the result of the expe- 
dition when Hertel first reached the Indian village on the Kennebec, 

By some irony of fate it was a June evening, not unlike that 
when Martha, a bride, had entered the home prepared for her at 
Barwie, when they arrived at Saint-Francois. They reached the 
shore of the Saint Lawrence, where it widens into the beautiful Lac- 
Saint-Pierre, just before the sun went down, its reflected rays trail- 
ing in splendor across the smooth blue surface. 

When the boat pushed off from the shore towards the island home 
of the Creviers, Marguerite stood before the door, shading her eyes 
from the rays of the setting sun. When the boat drew mto one o± 
the sheltered coves below the house, she walked slowly down the 
path to meet the occupants, and Martha, looking for the first time 
into that strong, sweet face that told of its o^vn sorrow, knew that 
she had found a friend. 

«: * * 

"Ma chere soeur. Que la Vierge Marie vous benisse." 

Marguerite Crevier, the lady of the seigniory, stood looking down 
at Martha as she lay still sleeping on that first morning after her 
arrival at Saint-Francois. In repose the face spoke more plainly of 
her suffering and Marguerite breathed a prayer. 

"Let her sleep," she said as she turned to leave the room, first 
stopping before a crucifix on the wall near the head of Martha's bed 
again to cross herself and say an Ave. Then, going to the rooms below 
and from there to the front of the house where the children, Jean 
Baptiste, 11; Marguerite, 7, and Marie- Anne, 4, were playing roll 
the ball, with shouts and bursts of laughter, she cautioned them that 
they must not wake the lady in the chamber above. 

"La femme, elle malard?" asked little Marie, running to her 
mother's side and speaking in a whisper. 

Marguerite explained that she hoped that la femme was only 
tired but she must not be awakened and then the children took their 
balls and went down towards the fort to play. 

* * * 

These June days, like all others of the year, brought many tasks 
for Damoiselle Marguerite, for the seigniory of Sieur Crevier, her 
husband, was one of the most important. Situated fifty miles below 
Montreal, where the Saint Lawrence river widens into Lac Saint- 
Pierre, it stretched for five miles along the shore. It had been ob- 
tained by him in 1673, with all the titles thereto appertaining, and 



Martha Smith of Berwick 79 

here at the mouth of the Saint-Francois river, for many years he had 
been acquiring tenants as vassals until their narrow, lath-shaped 
farms formed a considerable settlement along the river front, reach- 
ing far inland. 

His own buildings were upon a large, wooded island at the river's 
(Saint-Francois) mouth and here was a strong fort. The seigniory 
house was of stone, low and covering much ground, but substantially 
built with its interior of heavy, hewn timbers. On the ground iloor 
were several large rooms, one of which was the family gathering 
place. The flax and spinning wheels were here ; Marguerite brought 
her sewing ; here she taught her daughters to spin and weave, and here 
her husband came to talk to her about the proprietes. Together they 
planned for laying in provisions for the winter and talked over the 
needs of the mission six miles up the river or surprises for Father 
Louis- Andre^ when he should come on his quarterly visit. Here was 
a seat on the chimney bench for the old grandfather, father of Jean 
Crevier, when it was not warm enough for him to sit on the bench 
outside the door, and also a corner where an aged aunt of Marguerite 
sat with her knitting, talking to herself gently of days long ago in 
far-off France, or nodded in her chair, smiling as she dreamed. 
There were muskets on the walls and powder pouches; for always 
one must be ready for defense with the Iroquois about; and there 
were trophies, a bearskin that Louis had taken himself when a lad of 
17, a bunch of Iroquois arrows and the beautiful branching antlers 
of a caribou and a buck. 

While the family room was so closely associated with the life of 
the Creviers, other parts of the great manor house were important. 
There were the large kitchens where the family and the guests of 
the house ate. Usually it was a considerable family, counting the 
attendants, the soldiers at the fort and the members of the war ex- 
peditions who always stopped at the island when they returned 
from their forays, so that sometimes for weeks together the large 
dining-rooms were filled at meals. Then there were the provision 
rooms and the vault-like cellars, filled with supplies to last through 
the long, cold winter. 

On the second floor were small, cloister-like sleeping rooms, each 
immaculate in its neatness, for Damoiselle Marguerite was looked 
upon as the most wonderful of housewives and home-makers by the 
inhabitants of other seigniories as well as that of Saint-Francois. 
And was it not as it should be ? Was she not the daughter of Sieur 
Hertel de Rouville and a sister of Francois who had led the expedi- 
tion, under Frontenac, into the settlement at Salmon Falls and Ber- 
wick? And were not both father and brother recognized as "brave, 
courageux et hommes de tete?" Marguerite Hertel, married now 

^Father Louis-Andre had come to the parish of Saint Francois in 1689. 



80 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

to Jean Crevier for 27 je&rs, was yet but 41 years of age, young 
enough to have pride in looking after every task connected with the 
life of the household, while Jean, who had seen 47 summers, regarded 
his wife as exemplary in all that is womanly and capable. 

This morning the Damoiselle had a new duty, the sister above 
stairs must be fed, and when she had set all the household attendants 
to their morning tasks, she prepared and carried to Martha's room 
a wooden bowl of steaming porridge. 

As Marguerite entered the room for the second time that morn- 
ing, Martha opened her eyes and sat up, then sank back, shading her 
face from the bright light of the morning. There could be only sign 
language between them, and Marguerite held out her hand as she ap- 
proached the bed, assisting her to rise, then left her while she went 
for fresh water and a towel. For nearly three months Martha had 
tasted no really palatable food and when she had eaten she was physi- 
cally soothed and again sank to slumber, from which she did not 
awaken until late in the afternoon when Marguerite came and led 
her to the family room below stairs. 

Here she was greeted by the members of the family and a chair 
was placed for her. As the twilight made itself felt, little Marie 
came to her and resting her head upon Martha's lap, whispered: 
"Que je t'aime." 

Though Martha understood no word, there was a heart language 
that she could interpret and, reaching down, she took the child 
in her arms and cuddled her as she would have cuddled Baby John 
had he been there. Reaching up, the child put her arms about 
Martha's neck, and then was born a friendship that saved the cap- 
tive from many hours of despair in the days that were to come. 

Martha's place in the household now became one of much use- 
fulness. Marguerite treated her more like a sister than a servant. 
She was left much with the children and, caring for them, learned 
the language and their simple ways of living. When she was not 
thus employed she assisted Marguerite with daily tasks about the 
household and while her heart cried out daily for her son, she real- 
ized that it was best for her to be always busy. "Why the world 
should hold so much bitterness when nature was so beautiful, she 

could not understand, 

* * * 

But Martha was to experience other terrors. She had been in 
her new home but a few weeks when she again knew all the horrors 
of an Indian attack. It was at hand, what the old voyageur called 
"the time of the leaves and the butterflies and the Iroquois." They 
had come from the vicinity of Albany by way of Lake George, 
Lake Champlain, and the Sorel river, one hundred and fifty Iro- 
quois thirsting for the blood of their brothers, the Algonquins, and 
of the French, who were the Algonquins' friends. 



Martha Smith of Berwick 81 

Before it was known, they had encamped on the very island 
where were the fort and the stockaded buildings of Jean Crevier, 
and it was one of the attendants who first gave the cry: 

"Voici les Iroquois. Cachez-vous en siirete; au fort I au fort!" 

Jean led his soldiers with reinforcements from the mainland 
and attacked the enemy in its camp. It was a bloody battle, four- 
teen of the whites were killed and several wounded. The Iroquois 
were routed, but they carried with them four or five prisoners, among 
them Jean Crevier himself. 

Now it was Martha's turn to act as comforter to the lady of the 
seigniory, who might, like herself, be widowed. Or the husband 
might meet a fate worse than death. In the weeks and months that 
followed, the two women became closely endeared to each other, 
and each day held some tender experience. But Jean Crevier did 
not return nor was he heard from. 

November came, the saddest month of the year. The last of 
September there were preparations for the winter's supplies. 
Herbs had been gathered for salads and soups and packed with 
salt; the bins had been filled with vegetables and as soon as the 
weather became cold enough, venison, game, fowl and fish were 
frozen and put away in the cellars especially built for them. 

It was the first of December — Christmas was approaching. The 
men had brought in the evergreen from the forest, for a branch 
must be tacked above the door of each room and over the big fire- 
places, else it would not be Christmas. But no one seemed really 
to have heart. Every one was triste even to little Marie who sat 
by herself much and often wished aloud for her papa. 

Just a-week-to-Christmas was a gloomy day; the dark shut down 
early. Martilde, the aged aunt of the seigneuresse, muttered almost 
a ceaseless prayer as she hugged nearer to the hearth of the open fire. 
Grandpere Crevier leaned his chin on his cane and kept his eyes 
closed as if he would shut out the sorrows of the world and little 
Marie, finding her mother distrait, came to Martha and begged her 
to sing to her. 

Possessing a voice of much sweetness, she had first amused the 
children with little English songs, but had now become sufficiently 
familiar with the new language to use it understandingly. Taking 
the child in her arms, she drew her chair within the warmth of the 
fire and began that old lullaby, "Roll The Ball," a song that French 
Canadian mothers and grandmothers in the States will tell you was 
sung to them by their mothers when they were children, and by other 
mothers and grandmothers for centuries back: 

"Derriere chez nous, 
Y tung, Y tang, 
En roulant ma boule. 



82 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Trois beau canards s'en vont baignant 
Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant, 
En roulant ma boule, 

"Trois beau canards s'en vont baignan*- 
En roulant ma boule, 
Le fils du roi s'en va chassant 
Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant. 
En roulant ma boule, 

"Le fils du roi s'en va chassant. 
En roulant ma boule, 
Avee son grand fusil d 'argent, 
Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant 
En roulant ma boule, 

"Avee son grand fusil d 'argent, 
En roulant ma boule, 
Tue la noir, blesse la blanc, 
Rouli, roulant, ma bouli roulant, 
En rouli ma boule, roulant, 
En roulant ma boule." 



Once through, and at ^Marie's request, Martha was beginning 
again when there was a great shout, as of welcome, outside, and all, 
hurrying to the kitchen, found the Damoiselle crying and praying 
over her husband, Sieur Jean Crevier, who looked lean and gaunt 
but with a very satisfied expression, recounting his escape from the 
Iroquois and how he had made his way back home aided by a friendly 
Huron. 

Everybody was happy, and Martha, still a prisoner, slipped away 
and sat by herself in her own room. These friends were kind; she 
had a comfortable home, but she was alone. If she could only be 
with those she loved. It was so that Marguerite found her, calling 
as she came: "Come, Father Louis-Andre is here. It is good news 
for you. Come." And iMartha followed her to hear the story from 
the good Father's lips: 

He had found her little son, John. He had seen him but the 
week before. He was in the family of M. Argenteuil in Montreal, in 
their service. He was a fine boy and was growing well ; he would be 
a good man. The others rejoiced with her and Jean and Marguerite 
promised to take her to ^Montreal to see him. It was her Christmas 
as well. 

It would seem that only one thing remained to complete the hap- 
piness that was Marguerite's at the return of her husband. It was 



Martha Smith of Berwick 83 

the salvation of Martha's soul that she craved and for which she 
prayed. Her love for the English captive had grown very great ; it 
was as if Louis had sent her to be his mother's special charge. 
Sometimes she pleaded with her gently and Father Louis-Andre 
often urged baptism. 

It was nearly three years that Marguerite's prayers were una- 
vailing and then they brought the news that Martha 's young son had 
been baptised^^ into the faith in the church of Notre Dame on the 
third of May. Six weeks later in June, 1693, she, too, stood before 
the altar in the same church and received the sacrament of baptism 
by the sprinkling of holy water on brow and breast. 

That day Father Guyotte wrote on the church record: 

"Le lundi vingt neuvieme jour de Juin de I'an mil 
six, cans quatre vingts treize a ete solennellement 
batisee sous condition une femme Angloise nommee en 
son pais Marthe, lequel nom lui a ete conserve au 
bateme, Laquelle nee a Sacio en la Nouvelle Angleterre 
le huitieme de Janvier (vieux stile ou 18 nouveau stile) 
de I'an mil six cens cinquante trois du mariage de 
Thomas Mills natif d'Excester en la vieille Angleterre 
et de Marie Wadelo native de Brestol proche Londres et 
mariee a defunct Jaques Smith Habitant de Barwie en 
la Nouvelle Angleterre y aiant ete prisele 18 i\Iars de 
I'an mil six cens quatre vingts dix par ]\Ir. Artel, 
demeure depuis trois ans au service de Monsieur 
Crevier a St. Francois. Son Parrein a ete Monsieur 
Pierre Boucher Ecuyer Sieur de Boucherville, Oificer 
dans le detachment de la marine, Sa marreine Dame 
Marie Boucher, veuve de Monsieur de Varennes 
Gouverneur pour le Eoi des Trois-Rivieres. 

Martha ]\Iills 
Marie Boucher 
E. Guyotte 
Boucherville 

The godfather v*-as Pierre Boucher, former Governor of Trois- 
Rivieres and now "ecuyer" and owner of the great fief of Boucher- 
ville, opposite Montreal, and he was a brother-in-law of Damoiselle 
Marguerite. The godmother was his daughter Marie, the widow of 
De Varennes, also in his time Governor of Trois-Rivieres, the signa- 
tures of the noble godfather and honored godmother appearing with 
^lartha's on the record. 

But the great joy that filled the heart of ^larguerite on the June 
morning when Martha took upon herself the vows of the church was 

loMartha's son was baptized as John Baptiste Smith. 



84 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

not to be of long duration. Scarce a month after her return to 
Saint Francois Marguerite suffered the most cruel blow of her life. 
Again the Irociuois descended upon the island and carried off her 
husband who was at work in the fields with some fifteen worlfmeu, 
and he probably died at Albany from his wounds and suffering in- 
volved in his captivity. 

* * * 

Summer suns and winter snows counted off the j^ears to 16 and 
Martha Smith lived on in the home of Marguerite Crevier. The long 
struggle between the French and English for supremacy in the New 
World still continued, now quiescent, now breaking forth with sting- 
ing hatred. But the power of the Iroquois had been broken, the allied 
tribes found matters of graver importance nearer home to hold their 
attention, so that savage forays across the Canadian border were be- 
coming less and less, while New England was being more strongly 
peopled by colonists from the Old World. 

In the year 1706 there was a general exchange of prisoners and 
that year Martha Smith and her son John, now to manhood grown, 
probably came back to the old home in Berwick, since after that date 
their names do not appear among those remaining in Canada. 
Martha must have been sorrowful at the thought of leaving the 
friends at Saint-Francois, and especially Marguerite whom she had 
learned to love as a sister; but she must have been stirred by far 
deeper emotions at the thought of returning to the scenes of her girl- 
hood and married life, to the old home and the old friends. 

And John? He was but a young man and quickly found com- 
panionship among the friends of his parents. He married the beau- 
tiful Elizabeth of Kittery and when experience was added to his 
years, he was made an elder in the old Congregational church at Ber- 
wick. He became a man much esteemed, lived to an honorable age 
with his family about him and in the faith of his ancestors he was 
gathered to the fathers. 

Author's Notes. 

On August 31, 1963, Governor Fletcher of New York writes in a letter 
that the Iroquois had a prisoner named Mr. Crevier of St. Francois; that they 
bad torn out his finger-nails and were preparing to burn him at the stake, 
when Colonel Peter Schuyler, in command of the garrison at Albany bought 
him for fifty louis d'or and that the poor captive was then very sick in that 
city. "Jean Crevier," says Suite, "doubtless died at Albany from his wounds 
and from the suffering he underwent during his captivity among the Iroquois." 
The next year his eldest son signs as seigneur of Saint-Francois. 

The account of Martha Smith's captivity is drawn in great part from her 
long baptismal entry in the church of Notre-Dame at Montreal and from a 
scarce pamphlet in French, Suite's "Histoire de Saint-Francois-du-Lac," the 
latter a critical re-statement of the facts on ancient records concerning the 
family of Sieur Jean Crevier, in whose household Martha passed so many 
years; L'Abbe Maurault's "Histoire des Abenakis," the Massachusetts archives 



Martha Smith of Berwick 



85 



and the York County records. The baptismal record is the copy made by C. 
Alice Baker, deceased, and is now in the hands of Emma L. Coleman of 
Boston. 

The Abenaki reservation is located at Pierreville, Canada, and on land 
given them by Marguerite Crevier before she died. There is a small chapel 
and upon an interior wall a tablet to the late U. S. Senator Matthew Stanley 
Quay of Philadelphia, a descendant of Abenakis. He also gave $5,ooo for a 
library for the mission. 

In nearly every New England city where there are French-Canadians of 
any distinction one finds descendants of the Abenaki Indians through the mar- 
riage of Joseph-Louis Gill. The record of the family is a most honorable one. 

The following personal letter from Archbishop Lapalice attests the genu- 
ineness of the baptismal record: 



^■ty J^.O'C.i'^i^i^ /■Z-i^6''l^^Jj>7 ^^Cc^^-<A^ ji-^f^i '_ 




liS^-v-O'^^ 



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By GERTRUDE LEWIS 




CE CAKES grated against the rocky beach. Each 
wave tumbling them over, sending forward its rush of 
foam, left behind an icy film. Slipping, stumbling, 
red-coated soldiers; somber-clad, hooded and muffled 
civilians, men, women and children, an eager, curious 
crowd, pressed to the water's edge, heedless of the foam 
crawling over the numbed feet and the cutting wind 
oft" the ice floes of Penobscot bay. 

Bitter cold was February of the year 1780 ! 

' ' Hurrah ! Long live King George ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! ' ' 
shouted the "red-coats," while the Tory rabble waved their arms 
and stamped their feet; working up both warmth and patriotism as 
a sloop cleared the ice drift at the harbor entrance. 

"Guess Peleg will catch it!" shrilled a small boy. 

' ' You bet ! ' ' guffawed the crowd. 

"Tut, child!" reproved an old man, cuffing the urchin into si- 
lence. "Speak not so of your betters. A smarter general never 
stepped on this peninsula." 

"Look out, Uncle! Your smart general's goin' to find Castine 
hotter for him in February, than ever he found it last July ! ' ' blus- 
tered a voice from the crowd. 

"Eh! But it was mighty near he came then to sending you all 
to where you'd never cool off!" muttered the old man, withdrawing 
to the edge of the crowd. 

"Ah, well met, Thomas Wescott! These fools, these — " 

' ' Softly, softly, Samuel Veasey. ' ' 

"Speak not 'softly' to me! Oh, but it was a scurvy trick! Home 
on a three days ' leave ! They do say that he was sitting alone with 
his wife, drinking tea, when into the room marches Lieutenant 
Stockton an' his twenty-five 'red- jackets!' Twenty-five to one! 
British courage for you!" 

"He had a guard, didn't he? Sleeping, were they?'' 

"Sleeping! No! As for a guard — well, three or four, may be. 
He should have been as safe in his own home as in Heaven, but for 
these cursed Tory spies! Maybe you are one, yourself? I'm past 
caring! Shot him down like a dog, before his wife!" 

"You are beside yourself. The Lord's will — " 

"Stop your prating, Thomas! There's more of the devil than 
of the Lord in this business, I'm thinking! Here they come !" 



90 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

On the road, directly back of the beach, with a flourish and pro- 
digious jingling of accoutrements, the mounted guard from Fort 
George drew up ; while the rattle of the anchor chain was borne to 
the expectant ears of the crowd, as the sloop swung abreast the land- 
ing. Immediately a boat was lowered, four sailors taking station at 
the oars ; several figures seemed to be helping or carrying another to 
the stern. With powerful strokes, the rowers made swift headway 
against the heavy swell. 

''There's Stockton in the bow!" 

"Where's the damned Yankee?" 

"There he is! That's him!" 

"Hurrah for Stockton! He's—" 

Making an imperative gesture for silence. Lieutenant Stockton 
arose in the bow, as the boat beached; his non-committal British 
features were unmoved. Quickly the soldiers separated the crowd, 
forming themselves in a double line from boat to mounted guard. 
Somewhere a hiss started. With upraised arm, and by that quality 
of the officer which demands obedience, Lieutenant Stockton com- 
pelled silence as, turning with courtly gesture — offering the respect 
of one brave soldier to another — he assisted a man, wrapped in an 
army cape, over the boat's side, General Peleg Waclsworth, prisoner, 
who, but a few months since, had so nearly in battle won that fort to 
which he was now being taken captive. 

Not so tall as the Lieutenant, but broader-shouldered, more 
rugged of feature — a presence and a face of command — a moment 
General Wadsworth stood steadying himself against the bow, obliv- 
ious to the curious stare of the watching throng, his face, tense with 
lines of pain, paled beneath its wind-reddened surface. He straight- 
ened, threw back his head, stepped forward, stumbling as he did so, 
on the ice-coated pebbles, and half fell. The military cape, slipping 
from his shoulders, revealed a bandaged arm and shoulder wet with 
fresh stains of blood. Recovering, at the side of Lieutenant Stock- 
ton, between the line of soldiers and through the silent crowd, he 
walked slowly but steadily, to the waiting escort. 

# * * 

Propped against his pillow, General Wadsworth, with one hand, 
clumsily adjusted loose sheets of paper on the table, placed at the side 
of the narrow cot; drew the ink nearer: "Now my quill, Barnabas?" 

"Here it is. Sir!" said the waiting attendant, "anything else you 
would like, Sir?" 

"No, no, Barnabas, you may go now," adding, with a wry smile, 
as the face of the guard looked in through the glass pane inserted in 
the upper half of the door, "yes, you may go, for I shan't be alone ! " 

Barnabas hung the dipper on a nail over the water jug ; straight- 
ened the one chair against the wall; gathered up the few dishes in 



Back to the Army 91 

which had been served the morning meal ; lingered uncertainly by the 
table. ''Nothin' more, Sir?" 

"Why, no!" answered the General, looking up surprised, "go 
now ! ' ' 

"Yes, General." Slowly Barnabas left the room, the guard bolt- 
ing the door behind him. 

My beloved Wife: (wrote the General slowly) 

By the courtesy of General Campbell, Commandant, I am per- 
mitted to send you assurance of my well-being. On my arrival, I 
immediately applied for a flag of truce, that you might receive one 
letter from the garrison. I trusted — and not in vain — under the, to 
you, so distressing circumstances of my capture, that my confidence 
would not be misplaced. 

Much courtesy has been extended to me by the officers, soldiers of 
the King first, but also British gentlemen! 

Be not uneasy regarding my wound — Dr. Calef, regimental sur- 
geon, seems a man well skilled. 

General Campbell most kindly permits me, also, to send, under 
this same flag of truce, an open letter to the governor of Massachu- 
setts. I doubt not but that an exchange may be made ere long ! 

Meantime, my dear wife, my heart misgives me, knowing that I 
can frame no words so skilful as to calm your anxious fears. 

Stay not alone ! Mayhap, our sad young friend. Mistress Fenno, 
will find her own best solace in comforting you? Oh, those two 
foolish lovers! Let our misfortunes teach them not to trifle with 
that "gift of the gods" — True Love — while it is yet theirs! Per- 
chance she will be kinder to my good friend, Major Burton, if the 
fortunes of war again spare him to her! 

Trusting God, that our misfortunes be but temporary, 

Your affectionate husband, 

Peleg Wadsworth. 

Wearied, restless from the pain and fever in his wound, General 
Wadsworth pushed aside the papers. Sinking back on the pillow, 
he dozed but a few minutes, rose and unsteadily paced back and 
forth before the one window, heavily barred, his gaze absently trav- 
eling over the trodden snow of the enclosure (some 50 feet wide) 
beneath his window, to the 20 foot wall of the fort. On its top, the 
figure of the sentry, silhouetted against the gray sky above, the 
snow below, seemed to be suspended in mid air. The bolt slipped, 
admitting a dapper young Lieutenant of scarce 20 years. Saluting, 
"Lieutenant Moore — John Moore — at your service. Sir. General 
Campbell presents his compliments, and begs that you will dine 
with the officers' mess in the guard room." 



92 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Turning, General Wadsworth, with hot eyes, looked confusedly 
about the bare room — the barred window, the door with its square of 
glass — to the fresh-faeed English lad. With quick comprehension, 
Lieutenant Moore drew the General toward the cot, "You're ill, 
Sir," he exclaimed. 

Many restless nights and days. General Wadsworth tossed on 
the narrow bed, his mind sometimes clouded, sometimes clear, as the 
suppurating wound ran its fluctuating course, under the drastic 
treatment of Surgeon Calef. The doctor bled the patient, applied 
his leeches, while nature, sure ally of the powerful, clean-lived 
man, reinforced by the faithful Barnabas Cunningham, armed 
with his jug of fresh water, made persistent counter attacks. 
The third week they carried the outposts; by a night sortie, at the 
beginning of the fourth week, completely routed the enemy. 

The General awoke Avith a wonderful sense of coolness, of rest, 
that delightful languor which follows cessation of pain and fever. 
He drew deep breaths of cold, moist air ; faint, but unmistakable, came 
to his ears the first voice of spring, a distant cawing of crows ; turn- 
ing, he saw Barnabas Cunningham, birch-broom in hand, standing 
before the raised window. Curiously the General watched him, thin, 
stooping, narrow-chested, hair grizzled over hollow temples. 
Finally, "hello, there, Barnabas!" he called. 

"Why — why, General," stammered Barnabas in excited pleas- 
ure, "but it's fine you're lookin' this mornin'!" 

"You've been mighty good," said the General, frankly extend- 
ing his hand, "and you — a servant of his Majesty!" 

Smiling quizzically, "aren't you afraid King George will string 
you up, when he learns that, thanks to you, there 's another ' damned 
rebel ' to be reckoned with ? ' ' 

Flushing, Barnabas, with a hasty glance toward the door, swept 
under the cot bed: "Wal, it's this way, you see. General," he began 
in an undertone, "General Campbell, he's right here — and General 
Washinton, he's a long way off!" 

' ' That does seem to be the situation at present ! ' ' smilingly inter- 
posed General Wadsworth. 

"And my old woman, she says to me, 'Barnabas, don't be a fool! 
Ye ain't spry enough to kill a jack-rabbit!' An' one o' them red- 
coats come up to me when they wuz buildin' the fort, last year; an' 
he punched me in the stummick, kinder jokin' like, with the butt of 
his gun, 'Can you cook?' says he. 'Not so you'd notice it!' says I. 
' None ' your sarce ! Come along up to the officers ' barracks ! ' says 
he, pokin' me agin. I came an' I been here ever since. But I ain't 
relished it!" 

The General gave a low whistle. "So," said he, with a keen 
glance straight into the old man's eyes, "so the wind blows fair, 
does it?" 




o 



X 



Back to the Army 93 

"It does, Sir!" 

"Ah, good morning, Dr. Calef," as the door opened, "and a fine 
morning, too! Barnabas here, has been telling me that it's about to 
clear from the northwest!" 

"Well, well," blustered the rubicund little man, "knew those 
leeches would fix you ! Knew they would ! ' ' Laying a hand on the 
cool wrist, "You're as fit as the morning, yourself! A bit shaky, 
may be, but you'll be up soon now." 

"Up and out, I trust!" ejaculated General Wadsworth, "I ap- 
plied for parole, some time ago." 

"Better off where you are, Sir! Better off where you are! 
Heard something about your parole this morning — here's Captain 
Craig now," he added, as an officer's figure appeared behind the 
glass pane in the door. With an expression of relief, Dr. Calef 
stepped back as the regimental captain, accompanied by an orderly, 
entered. 

Saluting, "General Campbell's compliments to you, Sir," said 
Capt. Craig. "He regrets to state that parole cannot be granted to 
an officer of your rank. A communication in regard to your case, 
Sir, has been sent to the commanding General at New York." 

"My respects to General Campbell," replied General Wadsworth. 

"I avfait his orders." 

* * * 

The quadrangle, behind the officers' barracks, was soaked in the 
slush of melting snow and mud, till, whipped by the March gales, 
dry islands appeared here and there. A faint tinge of green 
warmed the base of the 20 foot wall. The sentry, pacing at the 
top, no longer beat numbed hands against his breast. Outside the 
General's door, even the two guards in the drafty entry, seemed to 
thaw out ; were heard to talk occasionally to one another in cheerful 
undertones. As the days slowly lengthened, the "feel of the spring" 
sometimes penetrated the barred window. At such moments, the 
prisoner valiantly buoyed his sinking hopes for a speedy exchange. 

General Wadsworth 's frantic impatience to rejoin the army now 
shook his steady calm. Doubly guarded; an arm crippled; baffled 
in every suggestion for escape — the General's rapidly returning 
strength mocked his impotence. 

At dawn, one morning late in April, an unwonted stir and hurry 
through the barracks, a joyful hallooing in the distance, betokened 
some unusual event. "The 'Packet,' General," announced Barnabas, 
coming in earlier than his custom, "stores from New York and mail. 
Did ye hear 'em, Sir? Whoopin' up General Clinton, they wuz!" 

In an agony of impatience, doubt and hope, the slow hours 
dragged. At sundown, Lieutenant Moore entered, in his hand an 
opened letter. "Mail for you, Sir!" 



34 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

"With strong will mastering excitement, General Wadsworth ex- 
tended steady fingers for the open letter. " 'Tis most welcome/' said 
he quietly, recognizing the handwriting of his wife. He looked 
searehingly into the face of the young officer. "Is there no other? 
Did General Campbell send me no message?" 

"This is all that he gave me. There is no message, Sir," an- 
swered the Lieutenant, his candid face flushing slightly under the 
keen eye of the General. 

As Lieutenant Moore left the room, turning to the window in the 
fading light, General AVadsworth unfolded his wife's letter. "Cas- 
tine!" he exclaimed, "Here!" Hurriedly he read on: "be not 
angry," the letter ran, "it comforts me to be near you, although I 
cannot see you — neither am I alone — Mistress Fenno accompanied me. 
Poor child, I sometimes think her sorrow is greater than mine; I 
at least know that you are yet living! We have had no word from 
Major Burton, these many weeks." Twice the General read the 
letter — a message of home and love — naught else could pass the 
censor at the fort. 

Again the guard slipped the bolt. Barnabas entered, bearing the 
supper tray. Standing back to the door, placing dishes upon the 
table with fingers which shook, he spoke softly and rapidly: "Thar 'a 
ben a heap o' talk all day. Sir. I knowed them officers never had 
thar heads together for nothin'! I wuz moppin' the entry floor by 
the guard room, when the Colonel and Captain Craig come out, a- 
talkin' busy — I drawed back s 'quick they never seed me — 'Yes,' the 
Colonel wuz saying, 'General Clinton says by no means consider 
exchange of so distinguished and so able an officer.' Them wuz his 
very words. Sir! The rest I didn't catch, mebbe you will, Sir. 
Captain Craig wuz talkin' about somebody or somethin' goin' to 
England. ' ' 

"Yes," said the General slowly, "I think I do understand — too 
well! Thank you, Barnabas. Go, now!" he added, as the face of 
the guard appeared before the door. 

In the fast-gathering twilight, General Wadsworth stood long 
at the window, gazing out with unseeing eyes at the dim figure of 
the pacing sentry. His anxiety for wife, friend, the perilous future, 
merged in heavy oppression for his country's losses. The gathering 
gloom of manifold treacheries and disasters was deepening. The 
night of failure, in that dark hour, seemed close at hand. 

# * * 

Across the quadrangle, clouds of dust now eddied and swirled, at 
every passing breeze. The dandelions, whose shining buttons deco- 
rated the fort wall, gayer than the coat of an officer, had faded and 
gone when, one morning in late May, the tramp and jingle of heavy 
feet in spurred riding boots, came down the General's corridor. 
The door was flung open. "In here, Sir!" said an officer's voice. 



Back to the Army 95 

A soldierly figure stepped forward, wearing the uniform of a 
major in the Continental army, so worn and mud-stained that its 
insignia were barely recognizable. Of fine physique, scarce 30 years 
of age, brown hair and beard unkempt, darkly tanned, hollow- 
cheeked, there was yet an impression of abounding vigor about the 
man. 

"Your fellow prisoner!" said the new-comer, extending his hand. 

"Major! Major Burton!" cried the General. "In God's name, 
how came j^ou here?" 

"As you did, Sir! 'Misfortunes of war;' a cavalry raid; sepa- 
rated from my command; an ambush; rode straight into it — and 
here I am!" 

"Tell me," begged the General, gripping his hand, "tell me and 
tell me quick — the news! It's for the truth I'm starving, fed on 
Tory lies ! Washington ? ' ' 

"Ready and waiting to strike a blow, I've faith to believe!" 

"Thank God for that!" 

"Yes," assented Major Burton gravely. 

"Georgia is overrun and Savannah still in British hands — 
d'Estaing, having instructions to aid Washington with his fleet 
(after Savannah), cowered and slunk back to France like a whipped 
dog! They all fail the General! Naught but fine promises have 
come from France since the year opened ! In South Carolina, Lin- 
coln is hard pressed — a brave man, but slow. Clinton, himself, with 
8000 men, they say, is starting for Charleston — " 

"Charleston will kill the 'fatted calf,' ejaculated the General, 
"all of South Carolina is but another hot-bed of Toryism!" 

"Never, in the history of the world," continued General Wads- 
worth slowl}^ low-toned and intense, "never has there been a war 
where every true man and patriot was needed, as every man is 
needed now — not one can be spared! While we," he added ironi- 
cally, ' ' ive sit here ! ' ' 

"Not like to sit here long," answered the Major — " 'tis an open 
secret with them now — I was sent to meet the privateer, due here in a 
few weeks. She takes you and me, prisoners, to New York or Hali- 
fax — thence straight to England and her gracious King!" 

The General leaned across the table; face to face, tense, silent, 
each questioned the other, 

"Take us — alive?" breathed the General. 

"No — dead," steadily answered the Major, pledging his word 
with a firm grasp of the General's hand. 

The steps of the sentry approaching the door, hastily Major Bur- 
'ton fumbled for his tobacco pouch, and laughingly handed it to Gen- 
eral Wadsworth who, as the sentry looked in, smilingly continued 
in a low conversational tone, lighting his pipe, "if we make the 



96 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

break, there is a chance of one of us getting through. Better one 
Yankee back in the army — than two Yankees in an English prison ! ' ' 

Major Burton gave a low chuckle, "if neither of us gets 
through, we can reckon on squaring up an account or two." 

As the steps moved away from the door, "That fellow gone?" 
asked the General without looking up. The Major nodded. "Just 
cast your eye on the ceiling, will you ? — Well, what do you see ? " 

"A fine assortment of pine boards — selected sizes." 

"If the middle one was taken out, a man could squeeze through 
the hole, couldn't he?" 

"We could!" promptly replied the Major. 

"Good!" agreed the General. "My idea is this: (and by the 
way, you will find no slouching in discipline — first class corps of 
officers — we can't reasonably count on any aid of that sort) Two 
guards at the door, out in the entry here, two at the outer door, extra 
sentinels, etc.; more of these details later — (to the main idea) — cut 
this board ; drop it out at an auspicious moment ; haul ourselves up ; 
crawl to a third and unfinished entry, not usually guarded; drop 
through an opening in this ceiling (Barnabas tells me there is 
one) — " 

"Can you trust this man, Barnabas?" quickly interrupted the 
Major. 

"I believe so. Once in the third entry — make a dash!" 

"I see," mocked the Major, but with kindling eyes. "We open 
the front door or the back, whichever comes handiest, knocking down 
any or all in our way ; dash up that twenty-foot wall ; pass neatly be- 
tween the sentinels ; plunge lightly down the other side ! Let 's see, 
there's a chevaux-de-frise at the bottom, isn't there?" 

' ' There is, and well spiked ! ' ' 

"A trifle!" grinned the Major. "Also the mile run to the 
shore ! ' ' 

' ' You ought to know that ground, ' ' interrupted the General, half 
amused, half irritated. "You fought over it long enough last sum- 
mer ! ' ' 

"I said that was easy," returned the Major equably. "The 
isthmus well sentineled, I suppose?" 

The General nodded. "Probably impossible to pass — swim the 
cove ! ' ' 

"Just so, Sir," agreed the Major. "Swim the cove and on 
through the woods to the further shore. Wade the Penobscot ! ' ' 

"I'm with you. General!" 

In silence, absorbed in thought, they waited as Barnabas came in 
with the evening meal. 

Presently, with change of tone, the Major asked, "Have you had 
any word from home. General?" 




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Back to the Army 97 

"By the Lord Harry, — forgive me for a selfish brute! A blind 
ass! A maa needs his wife in these matters!" exclaimed the Gen- 
eral, while ne fumbled in his coat pocket, smiling into the astonished 
eyes of the Major. "Here, read these lines," he said, unfolding a 
letter and thrusting it close to the sputtering candle. As the Major 
took the paper in fingers w^iich trembled slightly, with kindly tact 
General Wadsworth stepped toward the window. 

There was a long silence in the room ; till a shaking hand was laid 
on the General's shoulder. "General, I thank you," said the 
Major, steadying his voice, "you and your good wife. Mistress 
Fenno, here ! And to have known that all is well between us, before 
we knock down the garrison!" he said, masking emotion with a jest, 
adding reverently, "'tis a miracle that passeth comprehension. It 
should be a good omen, General!" , 

With infinite caution, after their light was out, and the first 
change of sentries made, the General drew his pocket knife; 
mounted a chair; and plunged the rather dull blade into the wide 
center board. Hampered by his stiffened arm, unable to more than 
scratch the tough pine, the Major took his place, while the General 
stood guard by the door. Whenever the sentries passed, both Gen- 
eral and Major lay asleep upon the cot! 

All night Major Burton hacked and whittled ; he also made little 
headway upon the stout three-inch plank. At the first gleam of 
dawn, they filled the crack with chewed bread, smearing it over with 
dust wiped from the floor. ' ' Too slow ! ' ' commented the Major. 
"It will take us six months, at this rate, General." 

* * * 

"Barnabas," exclaimed Major Burton, as they were finishing 
breakfast, dropping a silver piece into his empty tea cup, "the Gen- 
eral and I are getting bored! We lack occupation. What do you 
say to finding us a gimblet, to-day? It would furnish good amuse- 
ment. 

" 'Tis an awful handy tool to have about. Sir," agreed Barnabas, 
quietly. 

"You understand?" questioned the General sternly. 

"I do. Sir!" 

The old man's stooping shoulders straightened, unflinchingly the 
faded eyes met the General's keen gaze. " 'Tis a better soldier I'm 
sending back to General Washington, than ever myself could have 
been. That's how I mnderstand. Sir!" 

"Thank you, Barnabas," replied the General, his eyes softening. 
"If we get through, we'll not forget." 

Each night, hour after hour, Major Burton perforated the board 
with gimblet holes, while (as before) the General gave warning of 
a sentry's approach. In the dark, with fumbling fingers, they filled 
each hole with chewed bread; at the first ray of light smoothed over 



98 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

and grayed the surface with dirt; gathered up every grain of saw- 
dust. 

Steadily the work progressed, but slowly — so slowly that each 
day, more tense with anxiety, they awaited news of the coming of 
the privateer. At the close of the third week, a fishing schooner 
came into harbor, reporting an English ship, becalmed in the lower 
reaches of the bay. 

Working feverishly through a hot night, dawn found the last hole 
bored. A knife could now sever quickly the slender partitions yet 
holding the heavy plank in place. 

On that morning of the 18th of June, 1780, the sun rose red 
from a bank of murky haze. Steadily, throughout the day, the heat 
strengthened, grew more oppressive, the air more lifeless, while the 
haze slowly rose and overspread the sky. Toward evening distant 
thunder muttered and grew louder. Darkness fell early, lit by 
forked lightning from zenith to horizon. Swiftly the storm rolled 
up. The wooden barracks shook in mighty gusts of wind. Great 
drops of rain pelted upon windows and roof, then descended in a 
steady crash. Almost incessantly lightning tiashed, while thunder 
pealed as though the granite hills themselves were splitting. 

Rapidly Major Burton and the General worked, under cover of 
the storm. In less than an hour, the board dropped into their wait- 
ing hands. Instantly Major Burton swung himself up, making fast 
a blanket, by which the General, handicapped hy his wounded arm, 
more slowly followed. One second's pause, while the General 
knotted the blanket about his shoulders ; stooping under the eaves ; 
crawling over beams ; till a flash, from below, lit an opening over the 
third entry. Dropping down, they stood in darkness for a tense 
heart-beat of time ; a second flash revealed a door. Without, a dash 
of wind and rain struck like a blow in the face! One moment's 
stumbling in a blackness, as of the Pit; then flash and fire of blind- 
ing blue light! Each ran forward, but failed to see the other! 

Clinging, with bleeding fingers; digging his toes, here into loose 
rock, there into a bit of earth, by sheer force of will General Wads- 
worth worked his way up the twenty-foot wall; how, afterwards, he 
never knew. 

Sentries were changing. Revealed by every flash of the lightning, 
pressed flat to the wall, he waited. Head down, slanting body 
against wind and rain, the sentry, in the fury of the storm, passed 
unseeing ! 

Springing up and over, knotting his blanket about a picket of 
the fraising, the General swung himself down, feeling with his feet 
for the iron-tipped spikes of the chevaux-de-frise. Dropping, he 
cleared the ugly entanglements, but pitched forv/ard on hands and 
face. Up again and through the encircling ditch containing three 
or four feet of water, on he ran, in the blackness, down the rocky 



Back to the Army 99 

hillside. Headlong, through thick undergrowth, wet branches smit- 
ing head and face with stinging blows ; stumbling in the hollows, on 
he plunged, with neither rest nor pause, toward the shore. 

Distinct, above the clamor of the storm, shots from the fort rang 
out. To the right, at the head of the cove, lay the isthmus — its 
cordon of sentries now roused. Straight to the beach and into the 
water, the General headed. Too long a swim! But by the second 
blessing of Providence that night, the tide was low. A half mile 
across the flats he waded, in three to five feet of water, guided by 
the lightning, now abating. Up the bank and over the fields and 
pastures of a deserted farm, burnt by the British the year before; 
on through the woods to the further shore. 

Afar off the thunder rumbled; overhead the clouds were break- 
ing ; a few stars shone out. By their dim light, the General slowly 
picked his way along the beach, pausing often in anxious fear, for 
sight or sound of the Major. It was about 2 o'clock, judging by the 
stars, and some seven miles from the fort; clambering over a ledge 
of rocks, he found himself face to face with Major Burton ! 

"I was looking for you, General!" cried the Major. 

' * Thank God ! " he breathed, as they gripped hands. " I 've found 
a canoe about half a mile beyond," he continued joyously, "Some 
good Indian's!" 

Warned by the paling stars, they hurried on. 

The river lay clear in the breaking dawn, as, launching the 
canoe, with swift, noiseless strokes they shot out from the shadows of 
the bank. 

"Hark!" whispered the General — his paddle poised in air. Mo- 
tionless they floated, breathless in suspense. Up the quiet water, 
came, unmistakably to their ears, the rhythmical dip of oars, the 
click of oar-locks. Below, bright in the eastern glow, lay an open 
reach of water ; as they watched, into full view came the barge from 
the fort. 

Back into the shadows slipped the canoe. With strokes, swift, 
powerful as an Indian's, bending with the strength and weight of 
their whole bodies upon the paddles, racing with the daylight — they 
shot the canoe up stream toward a rounded point where yet, be- 
neath a low hill, the long shadows of the dawn all but met reflections 
from the opposite shore. Here, they swung across, sprang out as 
one man, swift as thought slid the canoe up the beach, and up the 
bank into the concealing bushes. 

"Let us rest, one moment, Sir!" said the Major, turning in anx- 
iety to the older man, from whose splendid strength, long months of 
prison life had taken toll. 

Panting, pale, but undaunted, the General smiled. "One mo- 
ment!" he assented. 



100 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Leaning against the trunk of a white birch, whose drooping 
branches lightly brushed the water, they watched the glory of the 
June dawn, in their hearts a paean of thanksgiving. Close by a 
thrush sang his full-throated melody. Behind the low hill, which 
concealed the town and fort, a golden glow leapt, lit the wide reaches 
of the river, sparkled upon every rain-wet leaf and blade. 

Major Burton lifted his hand in salute — ' ' To the army ! " he 
cried, adding softly, with shining eyes, "and to Mistress Fenno!" 

"Amen!" repeated the General reverently. He parted the 
branches. Together, they plunged into the v,?ilderness. 

Scattering a shower of drops, the dripping boughs swung back; 
hung motionless above the still water. The thrush sang on, while 
up the empty river rowed the British barge. 



A ROMANCE OF MOUNT DESERT ISLAND 




A Romance of Mount Desert Island 

By BEULAH SYLVESTER OXTON 

"List to a tale of love in Acadie." 

T WAS Indian Summer. A golden haze brooded over 
land and wave. The winds were stilled and the surface 
of the sea was undisturbed save by gentle tide currents 
eddying in and out of harbor, creek and bay and run- 
ning so smoothly by rocky ledge and point that the 
brovv'n seaweeds rose and fell as if toyed with by tender 
hands. 

The huge shoulders of the granite hills, lifting their rugged 
heights in solemn grandeur above the tranquil tide, seemed touched 
by magic; their towering summits, wreathed with violet mist, loomed 
less distant and austere through the glowing, palpitating ether. 

The spicy odor of pine and fir filled the air as their branches 
exhaled forest incense, a tribute to their deity, The Sun. Within 
their shadows the atmosphere was warm and mellow, while out on 
the bare capes and headlands it held almost the sultriness of mid- 
summer, intensified by glowing clumps of goldenrod that garlanded 
their heights. 

All nature rested in perfect peace and quiet. The oul}^ sound 
that broke the stillness was the cry of the seagull, as it circled on 
graceful wing or settled to the sea. 

On this scene of matchless beauty Delphine Beauvais gazed with 
happy eyes, as with loitering steps she climbed the slope leading 
from shore to woodland. Such a day as this seemed too rare to be 
devoted to liomely, indoor tasks. 

Indeed, why must one work at all when the great Outdoors seemed 
resting in dreamy quiet and each succeeding hour only added to the 
beauty and enchantment of the scene. The girl paused often and 
gazed seaward, shading her eyes from the sun's glint on the water, 
w^hile she watched the fast lessening sail of her father's boat hanging 
limp in the morning calm as the fisherman labored patiently at his 
oars that he might early reach the fishing-grounds. 

"Delphine," he had said, when she kissed him good-bye, "how 
could Jean Beauvais content himself with his hard, rough life did 
not his little girl make it bright and happy with kind deeds and 
loving words? Le Bon Dieu send you, some day, the good fortune 
you deserve." 

And her heart echoed his words. How could he manage without 
her now that grand-pere was tied to the house with rheumatism. 



104 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

never able to aid at fishing, while poor grand-mere was deaf and 
almost too blind to find her wa}'^ about ? And over in the shadow of 
the pines slept her own mamma, laid there when she herself was 
placed, a helpless babe, in her father's arms. 

With this thought she hastened toward the cottage that was their 
home, and singing a blithe song went busily about her morning tasks. 

Though petite and delicately built, this young daughter of the 
desert isle radiated the glow of rugged health. Her limbs, though 
slender, were well rounded and beneath the soft skin played muscles, 
strong and supple. Her step was quick and elastic and her move- 
ments were as the fiit of a bird from bough to bough. The ripe red 
of the wild strawberry was on her cheeks and lips, and in her dark 
eye, the sparkle of the dancing waves. 

So close had been her girlhood years to the wild, free life of the 
great Outdoors that she resembled nothing so much as the robin that 
fearlessly built its nest in the balsam-fir growing beside the cottage 
door, or the wild blue-bell that graced the rocky clift's of her island 
home. *'0h, fair in sooth was the maiden!" 

She loved the sea and often spent days with her father in his 
fishing boat where she sat in the bow, gazing out over the ocean's 
wide expanse, dreaming dreams and seeing visions as only a young 
girl may. But not all her days were spent in romping or dreaming. 
She could spin and weave, knit and sew, bake and brew, and do all 
that a housewife should. In truth, she well deserved her father's 
praise, for since her grandmother had grown so blind, Delphine had 
kept the house and kept it well. 

* * * 

The cottage of Pierre Beauvais, Delphine 's grandfather, was one 
of a small settlement that had taken root on the rocky shore of the 
Isle de Monts Desert in those years before the coming of the Grego- 
ries in 1788, but of which history contains no record and of which 
only a tradition now remains. At the head of what is now South- 
west Harbor this little colony of fisher-folk, isolated and remote, 
maintained its existence against all hardships and privations. 

Pierre's cottage, like the others of the colony, was built in part 
of stone, in part of rough-hewn timbers. The chimney with its wide 
fireplace was made of stone, chinked with clay from the seashore, and 
though the winters were long and cold, these houses were snug and 
warm. The furniture was of the simplest and made by hand from 
the material that nature plentifully supplied. But as these fisher- 
folk were of simple tastes, they were contented and even happy. 

They had no time to sigh for the comforts that perhaps some of 
the older ones had known in earlier years, for life was a struggle for 
bare necessities and each must do his part of hard, rough toil. 

The chief source of livelihood was the never-failing store of cod 
and haddock, mackerel and shad with which the waters along the 



A Romance of Mount Desert Island 105 

coast teemed. These were dried or otherwise cured and taken to the 
larger settlements to be exchanged for needed supplies of food and 
clothing. 

But sometimes, if the catch of fish was large, a doting father or 
admiring lover bought some little trinket for a loved child or sweet- 
heart. So Jean Beauvais on his last trip to Falmouth had bought 
for Delphine a bit of gay muslin for a new dress and a string of 
shining beads for her pretty neck. 

The muslin had been fashioned into a gown of simple beauty that 
enhanced the girl's charming face and figure, and when she clasped 
the beads about her slender throat, her proud parent exclaimed, 
"There is not another in all New France so lovely as my Delphine, 
and were she in the old land over sea, she should win the heart of 
some gallant lord and adorn his chateau with her grace and beauty!" 
The dress had been worn for an hour or two, then carefully folded 
away in the big chest to await some festive occasion, or, who could 
tell, perhaps the coming of a lover. 

The morning, filled with household tasks, sped swiftly and hap- 
pily. Old Pierre sat on a bench beside the door and smoked and 
dozed in the warm sunshine or, in memor}^, lived again his early 
days in far-off, sunny France, his adventures here in the New World 
when life was all before him, his fortune to be won, and the long, 
hard years that had passed since then. 

After the simple noon-day meal, Delphine had placed a cushion 
on the bench beside Pierre and assisted her grandmother outside, 
where the old dame, though nearly sightless, spent the sunny after- 
noon, busily knitting. And Delphine, close beside her, sat at the 
flax-wheel, singing or listening to the endless tales she had heard a 
hundred times from her grandparent's lips. And while her hands 
were busy with the flaxen thread, she spun a golden skein of romance 
on fancy's wheel. 

Nightfall brought an orange sunset whose brilliant hues were long 
reflected by the placid sea and distant mountain tops, till purple sea- 
mist rising veiled them in its shadowy folds. 

The old people went early to rest, but Delphine sat long by the 
open door "watching the moon rise over the pallid sea" and the 
mystic figures of her imagination that came and went in its silvery 
path of light. Then she, too, climbed to her bed in the tiny loft. 

* * * 

The weather of the ]\Iaine coast has ever been uncertain and 
changeable, so it is not surprising that the unusual heat and calm of 
that autumnal day in 1753 was followed by a storm that burst out 
of the northeast with tremendous fury — a blizzard of sleet and snow 
and a wind that soon became a gale. 

The sea, that yesterday lay silent and peaceful, now bellowed and 
roared and thundered as it lashed and tore at the jagged cliffs, leap- 



106 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

ing up their sides in clouds of spray that froze as it fell. The entire 
landscape was blotted out by the driving cloud of snow that, fine and 
dry as dust, sifted into every cranny and crevice. 

The air was stinging cold, intensified by the gale that increased 
in fury from hour to hour. The great boughs of the hemlocks and 
spruces writhed and groaned as gusts of wind wrenched and con- 
torted them. The fisherman's cottage was shaken to its foundation, 
and though the fire leaped in the chimney and great sheets of fiame 
darted nearly to its top, the inmates sat round its hearth and shiv- 
ered. In their hearts was a sickening fear for the safety of the 
absent one, somewhere in his frail boat on that dangerous coast, and 
a prayer was on their lips for his keeping. Not only in the home of 
Pierre Beauvais were fear and anxiety ; for Jean was not the only one 
away on the sea. Others had fared forth, all unconscious of the 
coming peril. In those days no storm signals flew from cape to cape, 
no lighthouse-tower held aloft its beacon light through the blinding 
snows, no warning bell tolled o'er the surging deep to guide past 
treacherous reef and sunken ledge, no brave Life Guards patrolled 
the sands or peered through the storm for boats in distress. Small 
wonder that some who went out that Indian summer day should 
never see again the harbor lights of home, or that brave Jean Beau- 
vais should be numbered among that silent company! 

All day and night the storm raged until its fury was exhausted. 
When the second morning dawoied the wind had fallen and it had 
ceased snowing; but the air was still biting and heavy, leaden skies 
gave no hint of sunshine. The waves still roared and hissed, heaving 
in from sea in prodigious combers. 

Golden autumn lay dead, but through its hours of travail lusty 

winter had been born. 

* * * 

On this second day, as the anxious watchers looked seaward for 
some sign of the fishing boats, hoping they had found safety in the 
lee of some sheltering isle, a strange craft made its way into the har- 
bor and came to anchor. She was a large vessel, a ship of war as her 
guns and portholes shovv'ed, but of what nation none could tell, for 
no flag waved at her peak. That she had been caught in the storm 
was plainly to be seen. Her canvas hung in ribbons, some spars 
were entirely gone, while others hung as they had fallen when 
snapped by the gale; all entangled in sails and cordage. 

The rattle of her anchor chain had hardly ceased, v\^hen a boat 
was lowered away and put off toward the shore. As its bow grated 
upon the beach, one of its occupants, evidently an officer, sprang 
ashore and hastening up the slope, approached the cottage of Pierre 
Beauvais, standing nearest the beach. 

The "Bon Homme," a French frigate, was on her way to Que- 
bec, but by a series of gales that had swept the North Atlantic, she 



A Romance of Mount Desert Island 107 

had been driven far out of her course. Upon approaching the coast 
she had been caught in the blizzard and nearly wrecked upon the 
dangerous rocks that lie about twenty leagues to the southeast of 
Monts Desert. The mountainous seas had washed three of her men 
overboard and nearly swept her clear of sail and spar. She was 
so strained that her hull leaked dangerously. Her crew was ex- 
hausted with their terrible battle with wind and wave and suft'ering 
from thirst, for their water butts were either over-turned or filled 
with salt water. Hence she had sought the shelter of this harbor 
and her commander asked permission to cut timber for new spars 
and inquired for some spring where their water supply might be 
replenished. 

This was the tale the captain told when Pierre had bade him 
enter the cottage, the while his restless glance noted quickly the 
details of the humble dwelling and more quickly still the fair young 
girl who had so gracefully placed a seat for him before the hearth, 
then turned industriously to her flax-wheel in the corner, where she 
sat with downcast eyes and blushing cheeks. And he thought that 
a face so lovely he had not seen in many a day if, indeed, in all his 
life, w^hicli was a great compliment, had she but known, for the cap- 
tain was a young nobleman who had seen many a high and titled 
beauty in the salons of the gay French capital. But though Delphine 
looked not up, she felt the admiring gaze and could not hide the 
blushes that mounted to brow and cheek. 

Blushes? Yes, blushes. Had not the great ship come at last to 
the harbor, and had not its handsome young commander sped straight 
to her cottage door just as in her dreams it had always been? 

"And what was the end of the dream, Delphine?" "Oh, it was 
as father always said, we sailed away to the wonderful land of 
France where a noble chateau awaited the coming of her who should 
'adorn it with grace and beauty'!" 

With quick intuition the young nobleman guessed something of 
the thoughts that held her eyes so steadily on the distaff and caused 
the warm waves of color to mount to the ringlets, framing the 
piquant face, and determined that this should not be his only visit 
to the home of old Pierre, nor would he leave the harbor of the 
Desert Isle until he had plucked for his own, this sweet, wild flower. 

For ten days the great ship lay in the harbor while her busy crew 
fashioned new spars and wrought new sails and put the ship in 
condition to continue her voyage. 

Meanwhile, the flshing boats had returned, all but Jean Beauvais', 
and in spite of the hope that his boat had been blown off the coast 
farther than the others, or that he had been picked up by some mer- 
chant ship and carried to a distant port, old Pierre knew he should 
see his son no more, though he kept this knowledge locked in his ach- 
ing heart for the sake of Delphine and his poor ]Marie. And if Jean 



108 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

were gone, what would become of them? Just in the hour of need 
had not Le Bon Dieu sent this young captain to solve that knotty 
problem ! Pierre might be an old man now, but he had once been 
young and gay and he knew it was not to talk with him that the 
handsome officer, night after night, sought their humble fireside. 
Yes, Delphine should be a lady, and she would not forget her old 
grand-pere when she had gold at her command. 

Thus, between the old man's scheming and the girl's romantic 
dreams, the Bon Homme's captain found fair sailing on the sea of 
his heart's desire. 

Night after night he sat by the glowing hearth and talked with 
Pierre, filling the old man's pipe with fragrant tobacco and his mug 
with sweet, red wine from old Burgundian vineyards — telling, the 
while, tales of his adventurous life upon the sea or of Pierre's old 
home in Normandy. But when the old folks at last retired, he was 
free to tell the tales more pleasing to a young girl's ear: tales of the 
grand chateaux that, vast and high, rose above rich gardens and 
ancient woods, even as the tall cliffs of her lonely isle rose from the 
encircling sea; tales of the beautiful women and brave men, who, 
dressed in gorgeous satins and velvets and sparkling with jewels, 
made gilded halls and salons gay and brilliant with feasting and 
dancing, music and song; tales of wonderful Paris with its flowers 
and fountains, bridges, parks and drives, its marvelous shops and 
bazaars and its beautiful churches, dim and sweet with incense that 
burns continually before splendid altars : tales of palace and king, 
of lords and ladies of high degree and the glittering life of a mag- 
nificent court. 

And Delphine no longer sat with downcast eyes, but hung upon 
his words with cheeks and eyes aglow and with hands, always so 
busy before, now lying idly in her lap. Her whole body tingled 
with excitement, her mind was spell-bound with wonder and admir- 
ation. 

Then, drawing closer and taking her little hand in his, the captain 
poured out a tale of passionate love and promises. Some day, if she 
would but return his love, she should see all these grand sights of 
which she had heard, and should herself become one of those elegant 
ladies and dress in soft satins and lace ; for he was an heir of a noble 
line and over-seas his princely chateau awaited the coming of a little 
bride who should adorn it with her grace and beauty. And Del- 
phine, wild little blossom of the desert isle, gave into his keeping 
her trusting heart and the jewel of her fair young life. 

So the last night had gone. At morn the "Bon Homme" 
weighed her anchors and stood to the open sea. On Delphine 's 
finger showed the captain's ring, on her lips and brow and eyes 
still clung the rapture of her lover's kiss, in her ears the echo of his 
last sweet words and in her hands she held a purse of gold. Again 



A Romance of Mount Desert Island 109 

she must take up her round of homely household cares, again she 
must spin the flaxen thread ; but with the whirr of the flying wheel, 
ever she heard her lover's voice: "No wind so high, no sea so wide, 
that can keep me long from my darling's side!" 

* * * 

Again it was Indian Summer. Again the golden haze enveloped 
land and wave, and the sea was still. Again Delphine looked across 
the waves, but not at the fishing boats. Instead, her gaze swept the 
far horizon for some sign of the returning sail that should bring once 
more to the desert isle him who had her heart in his keeping. 

What changes one short year had wrought in the fisherman's 
cottage! No word had come of Jean Beauvais and at last Delphine 
had given up all hope. 

Over in the shadows of the pines another mound was made where 
they had laid poor old grand-mere, just as the tender green crept 
over the forest and the little birds had come again to sing among its 
branches. Pierre, as before, sat on the bench beside the door in the 
fragrant shade of the balsam boughs, but Delphine sat within, and 
this time it was a lullaby she sang, for on her breast nestled a little 
son. 

If she had been fair to see that other day as she sat by the wheel 
and spun a skein of reverie, now she was beautiful indeed! The 
divine light of mother-love shone in her eyes as she looked on her 
little one and spun for him another skein of fair romance, as she 
dreamed of what he should grow to be in the coming years — the heir 
of a noble line. And to-night as a year ago, Delphine sat by the 
open door watching the silvery path of moonlight on the sea. But 
was it a dream-ship that she saw looming on the distant verge and 
nearer, ever nearer, in the wavering, mystic glow draw on toward 
the silvern shore ! 

No, not a phantom ; for into the harbor, as before, sailed the great 
"Bon Homme" and in the hush of the autumnal night Delphine was 
clasped again in her lover's arms. 

Sometimes there come to mortals such days of supreme delight, 
such hours of exquisite happiness that whatever of pain and sorrow 
the after years may bring, the heart can bear it all for memory of 
those past sweet days. 

So to Delphine came that hour of bliss. Again she and her lover 
sat beside the glowing hearth while between them slept their little 
babe, and as before she listened with beating heart to his tales of love 
and promises : tales of their life that w^as to be in that fair, distant 
land of sunny skies, when she should take her rightful place, as his 
wife and mother of his heir. And for their son another tale of fancy 
bright : he should be trained and tutored by the greatest minds and 
given all the advantage of his father's name and become, in time, a 
trusted courtier of his lord, the King. 



110 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

But patient must Delphine be and await the day when he could 
take them from the lonely isle to live that happy life in far-off 
France. And if the gold in her purse was gone, then here was a 
larger store ; she should not lack for aught that it could buy. Then, 
with the dawning of another day, before the sun had risen from the 
sea, his ship was gone, and with it vanished the romance of her life. 

Let us not count the lonely years that follow, when Delphine 
watched and waited for him who never came. Not once did her trust 
or hope give way, and when the "Bon Homme" came not back and 
neighbors urged her lover's faithlessness, she always met the charge 
with good excuse ; the wars had kept him over-seas, or else the ship 
was ordered to some distant port : he would redeem his promise in 
good time, else death had claimed him. But no thought of infidel- 
ity could poison or corrupt her love nor the steadfast faith she had 

placed in him. 

* ■* * 

Old Pierre at last lay sleeping with those others beneath the 
pines, so Delphine had only herself and little one for whom to work 
and plan. And what a joy it gave her to do for her child; to care 
for his little body and to make his pretty clothes, to teach him to 
lisp a prayer and to sing her sweet old songs. Every day was devoted 
to his welfare and almost her whole existence centered in his happi- 
ness. He was indeed her blessed treasure, her precious, darling boy. 
How sad that his papa should miss all these delights of his son's baby- 
hood! But then, perliaps it was only fond mammas who found such 
happiness in their children's infant years. 

Only one event had brought deep sorrow to Delphine 's heart. 
One day, when little Maurice was just learning to walk, a dreadful 
thing happened. Busy one morning about the cottage, Delphine 
took from the crane in the chimney a pot of scalding water and was 
about to turn it into a tub when the little toddler caught her dress 
and pulled her to one side. Some of the boiling water had fallen on 
her darling's feet and so deep was the burn that the little toes were 
crippled and the child made lame for life. 

Delphine never ceased to grieve over the accident, both because 
of her tender love for the child and because she thought he never 
could fill those high positions his father had planned for him. And 
with what sorrow, mayhap anger, that father might reproach her for 
such seeming carelessness ! 

But though lame, little Maurice was an active child and played 
on the beach, or climbed the rocks, or frolicked beneath the branches 
of the pines with the other children of the settlement. Sometimes 
he went with Delphine to the cliffs on the point where she would sit, 
looking far away across the water, and tell him tales of his gallant 
father and of the wonderful things that he should see and do when 
papa came to take them from the little cottage to sail with him across 



A Romance of Mount Desert Island 111 

that shiniug sea. And the child, another little romancer like his 
mother, had already begun to dream dreams and see visions. 

* * * 

So the years flew by. One morning of a warm spring day in 
1761, another ship dropped anchor in this harbor of Monts Desert. 
A boat was lowered away and once more a stranger ascended from 
the beach and knocked at the cottage door. Delphine and her little 
boy had gone to the forest in search of the sweet, wild flowers that 
grew in the pine tree's shade, and the stranger turned to another 
house that stood not far away. His errand was soon told. He sought 
a child, a boy, the age of seven, whose name was Charles Maurice, 
and whose mother's name was Delphine Marie Beauvais. Did such 
persons dwell in their settlement? But why did this serious-faced 
gentleman, a stranger from a foreign land, seek these two on the 
Mountain in the Sea? That he told to Delphine alone when she re- 
turned from the forest. 

Some natures are endowed with an unusual power, almost an in- 
stinct, by which they feel the foreshadowing of good or ill to befall 
them. Delphine possessed this power. From time to time, during 
all that pleasant spring, a vague uneasiness overshadowed her usually 
merry heart. 

On these unhappy days she remained close by the cottage and 
could not bear to have little Maurice go beyond her sight. No harm 
must come to him, no unkind fate must take him from her side. Oh, 
she could not even brook the thought ! So she gathered him close in 
her loving arms and strained him to her heart. 

At the first sight of the new sail in the harbor and the stranger 
at her door, that vague sense of danger crept over her like a chill, 
the color died in her cheeks and her whole body trembled visibly at 
the sound of his deep, low voice. 

At last the story was told, at last she knew the bitter, bitter 
meaning of her dread forebodings. How could her loving heart 
receive such a stroke and yet not break ! Gone, yes, gone forever was 
her gallant lover, her brave captain, the father of her child ! After 
all the years of patient waiting, never to know the joy of meeting, 
never to be clasped to his heart again, never to look into his dear 
face or feel his caress! Oh, cruel, cruel fate, more bitter than a 
thousand deaths ! 

But even that was not the keenest sorrow she had to bear. She 
must give up her precious child and send him away with this 
strange gentleman to that still stranger land of his father's birth. 
' * Must, ' ' did he say 1 ' ' No, never ! " He was her own and she would 
hold him against all the world! Now that his father would never 
come again, what did life hold for her except to love and to be loved 
by their little child ? So in the agony of her tortured heart Delphine 
cried out when she could bear no more. 



112 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

But the stranger seemed not greatly moved by her suffering, and 
saying he would talk with her another day, returned to the ship in the 
harbor. 

All night in that humble cottage Delphine fought her terrible bat- 
tle alone, but when the first, gray light of coming day broke o'er the 
sea, she sank on her couch in a death-like sleep. "And into her soul 
the vision flew." When she awoke she understood its meaning. 

It was his father's wish. Their son was the heir of a noble line 
and he must not spend his life on that desert island. He must go to 
far-off France to his father's home and people. His uncle would 
love him and guard him as one of his own and see that all his 
brother's wishes were fulfilled. Yes, she would let him go. It was 
hard, only God knew how hard, but she would make the sacrifice. 
Her love should prove its worth; she would bear all for the loved 
one's good. 

Thus M. Neveu, the grave Paris lawyer, discovered a great 
change in Delphine when he next came to her cottage and it was soon 
arranged that little Maurice should accompany him to France, the 
ship sailing the following day, for her captain was anxious to be off 
the coast before a storm should arise. 

And how did the child receive this wonderful news? At first he 
clung to Delphine in terror, for he had been ever a shy child with 
older persons, and could not be induced to make friends with this 
stranger. But when the lawyer had given the boy some tempting 
sweets, the like of which Maurice had never seen or tasted, and some 
curious toys brought over-seas for this very purpose, Maurice had 
been quickly won. Then, too, Delphine, since her decision was firmly 
made to give him up, used all her arts of pleasing tales to fill his mind 
with fair imaginings of all that awaited him across the sea, until he 
was impatient to be on his way. 

All that last, sad night Delphine sat by her child's bedside and 
gazed through her blinding tears upon his little form. All night 
her prayer went up to Heaven that God would shield him from all 
harm, that he might find room in some mother-heart beyond the sea 
and grow to be a great and learned man, an honor to his father's 
name and noble family. 

The morning dawned with cloudless sapphire skies. A fresh 
warm breeze sang through the piney woods and set a-dance the blue 
waves of the sea. All the world seemed free from care and joyous 
with the springtime's blossoming. 

The great ship shook her canvas free, like some huge sea-bird^ 
spreading wings for flight, and with the freshening breeze and ebbing 
tide, turned proudly from the harbor towards the sea. 

And Delphine stood on the shore waving her hand and smiled, 
that her child's going and his last memory of her should be a happy 



A Romance of Mount Desert Island 113 

one. Then, out on the Point's highest cliff, she watched the depart- 
ing sail until it was lost to view in the purple mist of the far horizon. 

* * * 

Once more the fleeting years had brought the glory of an autumn 
day and Monts Desert glowed like a jewel on the breast of the tran- 
quil sea. Softly the dreamy haze wrapped in its folds each mystic 
mountain top. The quietude of nature's resting-time lay over 
the ancient wood among whose dark pines and hemlocks shone the 
oak and maple, resplendent in their richest colorings, while in their 
shadows silvery lakes reflected every tint and line in wondrous beauty. 
No handiwork of man with brush or pen could e'er repeat the glory 
of the scene. 

Again a stranger from a land far over-seas had sought the 
mountain isle ; had sought that sheltering harbor and the hamlet of 
the fisher-folk ; a gentleman, familiar with the splendid life of 
courts, who talked with Europe's greatest monarchs as a trusted 
friend, one whose mighty brain was yet to fashion a great Nation's 
destiny. What thus brought this famous man to the home of these 
lonely ones? 

That something which, since the world began, has made the hum- 
ble and the proud akin ; that sacred, holy, blessed thing, the mem- 
ory of a tender mother's love. 

There, in the softened light of the pine tree's shade, a son knelt 
by his mother's grave and did not the loving spirit of Delphine Beau- 
vais know that all her prayers had been answered? For, bending 
above her quiet resting-place, was the son of her love and tears, — 
the heir of a noble line — Charles Maurice, Duke de Talleyrand. 

* * * 

Author's Note : The historical claim for Mount Desert as the birth- 
place of Talleyrand will be found in Williamson's History of Maine, Drisko's 
History of Machias and Sylvester's Maine Coast Romance Vol. V. 



GOVERNOR KING 



Governor King 

By lONE B. FALES 

Foreword. 

William King was born in Scarboro in 1768, and his family was one of 
the most illustrious of his state. His grandfather, Richard King, came from 
England and settled in Massachusetts in the i8th century. William was one 
of the younger members of the family and the least favored in educational 
advantages, as his father died when he was but a lad. Entering the saw mill 
business in Topsham at the age of 21 years, he soon advanced to ownership 
of the business, and had extended his interests to extensive ship building and 
ventures. At the age of 27, he had already made a name for himself in pol- 
itics, both locally and in national issues. In the War of 1812, he took an active 
part in the defense of Maine against the English and won military honors for 
himself. For years he was a Maine representative in the Massachusetts leg- 
islature and it was due largely to his efforts that Maine was finally separated 
from the mother state, in 1820. The people honored him with the position 
of Maine's first governor and he filled the place for a year with honor and 
dignity. In 1821, he was called by President Munroe to make one of a com- 
mission to settle the United States claims in Florida and left Maine for a 
time to take a place in national affairs. He died at his home in Bath on July 
17, 1852, at the age of 85. In that city, Maine has erected over his resting 
place, an imposing granite shaft to mark his tomb. 

* * * 

HE ERRATIC cawing of a thieving crow, whirring in low 
flight above the cultivated fields of Scarboro, over a 
century ago, in quest of the tender tips of some luck- 
less farmer's sprouting corn, snapped the impassive 
quiet of a country noon-day. 

To the stalwart country lad, halted at the fork of 
the Portland and Portsmouth pike, the harsh note of 
the raven seemed a voice of good omen. He lifted his eyes from idle 
contemplation of the separating highways before him to follow the 
course of the bird in its flight. Beside the boy, grazing half-heart- 
edly by the edge of the road, two coal black steers were standing, in 
no more haste than their master to be on their way. 

Young William King, just turned 21, even in the crude home- 
spun of his mother's weaving, bore his tall flgure with a dignity that 
neither youth nor clothes could alter. 

He had been standing at the cross-roads for some moments before 
the crow's call had solved his problem for him. Before him, to 
right and to left, the two highways gave their invitation. On the 
one hand the road lay cool and serene, a damp brown ribbon of turf 
leading through tall aisles of forest trees. 

On the other hand, the vista was of equal worth. The pike, hot 
and dusty, reached out through cultivated fields and flowering 




118 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

meadows with the low roofs of farm houses visible at uneven dis- 
tances along its path. Cattle were feeding here and the newly 
planted crops of corn and potatoes were growing toward a harvest. 
These evidences of practical industry offered themselves in mute 
contrast to the undisturbed serenity of the forest lane. 

"Caw! Caw! Caw!" 

The rude hunger song of the crow burst loud upon the air, then 
grew fainter and fainter, as the bird faded to a small black speck and 
was finally lost in the distances of the Portland pike. 

"I'll follow the crow," thought "William King. So calling to his 
steers and driving them before him, he continued down the highway 
past the cultivated lands, where the crow had pointed out the way. 

Young King had that morning left his mother's home at Dun- 
stan's Landing, a little settlement of the town of Scarboro and had 
started off with his steers, his sole heritage from his father's estate, 
to make his way in the world. 

In due time, he arrived in Portland and attempted to dispose of 
his cattle there. But Portland at the early date of 1789, was 
scarcely larger than Scarboro and offered no great advantages to an 
ambitious young man. No one, which was of greatest moment to 
him at that time, seemed desirous of a bargain in steers. Failing 
of a market, the young man continued his journey, this time turning 
his course to Bath, passing from there to Brunswick and thence to 
Topsham where he settled. Somewhere on the road, he had dis- 
posed of his steers and with this small capital in his pockets, William 
entered the saw-mill business in that village. 

On so small a happening as a raven's flight, that summer day, 
was a page in the later history of Maine determined and one of her 
greatest sons preserved to her whose steps chance might otherwise 
have turned to the sister state of New Hampshire. 

Such is the earliest glimpse that Maine history or legend, call it 
as you will, gives of her first governor, his Excellency, General Wil- 
liam King. 

* * * 

Of William King, the governor, the soldier, the statesman and 
the captain of industry, the social leader and the polished gentleman, 
history is replete. Facts of his wonderful sway over the fortunes 
of Maine and his inestimable services in making Maine a separate 
state from Massachusetts, can be had in any volume of the history 
of his times. 

But the personal touches which should give him the niche he de- 
serves in the hearts of the later generations of his native state, have 
escaped the pages of history and are learned only by sympathetic 
gleanings among the stories handed down by friends and intimates 
of the splendid governor's own day. 




Governor William Kino 

u "^j'^r^'o"^^ °^ Governor King, secured through the courtesy of Hon 
Harold MSewall of Bath, is reproduced from a painting b^- Gilbert Stuart' 
made shortly after the Governor's marriage and in payment of a debt the Gov- 
r''^^l^.^^,^''"^s}o:ined Stuart money. The original of the painting is now owned 
by William King Richardson of Boston. So far as is known ""this is the first 
time a picture from this painting has been published. 



Governor King 119 

Sidelights upon his personality, gained now from the reminis- 
cence of an old servitor, but lately dead, now from personal letters 
to a friend, and again from tales handed down to their children b.y 
some of the first families of early Maine, give intimate, human details 
of the life of the great man. 

History pictures him as a stern, just man, of wonderful ability 
in trade and politics, successful in both affairs of state and affairs 
of his home. It gives him a dignity and graciousness, eminently 
fitting to Maine's first governor. But it leaves the reader over- 
whelmed with his coldness and aloofness to humdrum every da}' 
problems. To unwritten history is left the duty of infusing into this 
historical picture, the warmth of the personal touch. 

During the lifetime of the father, Richard King, young William 
had served his appenticeship in the saw mill trade under a rabiJ old 
Saco lumberman, and his harsh but thorough training now served 
him in good stead. 

It was but natural that the boy with scant resources at his com- 
mand, should turn to the one trade he did know and gladly step into 
the opening a vacancy in the Topsham mill afforded. 

King went to work with a will, but genius was not to be smoth- 
ered under a mechanical occupation and he had scarce become known 
in Topsham before he was rapidly striding to the front in business 
and politics. In partnership with William Porter, a brother-in-law. 
who also came to Topsham, he soon became owner of the mill busi- 
ness and immediately began to push his trade to the building of 
ships. Financial success was gained immediately and it was but 
six years after he had come to town that, at the age of 27, he began 
to be a state figure in politics. 

William King, early in his political career, was sent to represent 
Topsham at the Massachusetts Legislature. In company with the 
Hon. Peleg Tallman, he set out for Boston. The old story has it that 
King and Tallman were the only men in Maine at that date whose 
boots were good enough to wear to the capitol. 

At any rate, while there, the wise young politician got possession 
of the immense tracts of land where the town of Kingfield is now 
situated. The town gained its name from its former proprietor, 
Maine's first governor. Countless acres of land in the Dead River 
district were granted to King and Tallman by the legislature with 
the understanding that unless the territory was settled within a cer- 
tain date, the tract was forfeit. As the years passed and the terms 
of the grant were not fulfilled, the matter again came up before the 
Boston session. King was always strong at arguing and Tallman 
left it to him somehow to circumvent the letter of the law and keep 
possession of the land. So, in a witty and able speech before the leg- 
islature, with Tallman on hand to second his efforts, King convin(;ed 
the Boston law makers that the Kingfiold district was rightfully his 
and that upon payment of a certain sum b.y him and Peleg Tallman 



120 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

their claim should be confirmed for all time. His eloquence and 
personal magnetism prevailed. Tallman started post haste for Bath 
to secure the needed money. King stayed calmly at Boston, signed 
a note and had paid for the land before Tallman could return. 

This irregular method of closing the deal, turned a friend into 
an enemy and nearly brought on a duel. King refused to fight, 
however, saying it ill befitted the makers of the law to break it. 
Tallman was more fortunate than appearances first indicated. He 
died possessed of $600,000, while Governor King, though rich in land, 
was practically penniless at his death. 

King built for himself a huge homestead in the village which 
bears his name and in an annual journey to the Dead River region, 
encouraged his settlers to clear the lancl and erect dwellings. The 
old King place is still standing and is the chief historical landmark 
of the town which celebrated its one-hundredth anniversary in Au- 
gust, 1916. 

On a Sabbath morning in one of the last years of the eighteenth 
century, the first families of Bath were calmly making their way to 
the Old North church. The ladies in the elaborate costumes of the 
period, with flaring silks and quaint beribboned bonnets, seemed to 
be occupied with other matters than the orthodox Sunday thoughts. 
They were talking excitedly with each other and with the men of the 
congregation in half-suppressed whispers of expectancy, while to 
right and left, strict watch was kept as though to herald the ap- 
proach of some looked-for stranger. 

"She was the belle of the season in Boston society, last win- 
ter," murmured a stately dame to a companion as they paused at the 
entrance of the church. 

''Indeed, she is the biggest beauty of the year," commented a 
serious-faced gentleman to a group of his fellows. 

"And as charming as she is beautiful," added another. 

"And as wise as she is charming," remarked a dignified citizen 
in military coat who had just entered the church yard. 

' ' Her gown should be of the latest Boston style, ' ' hopefully sug- 
gested a fashionably attired girl whose thoughts seemed strangely 
strayed to worldly su1)jects. 

The church bell tolled its final summons and the curious throng 
passed within doors and settled themselves in the sombre-cushioned 
pews for the morning worship. 

William King was that day to bring his bride to Bath and, as 
was the custom of the times, her first appearance was to be at the 
services on that Sabbath morning at the Old North church. King 
was one of the most distinguished and most sought after young men 
of his day in the aristocratic community of Bath, while his bride 
rumor had hailed as one of the beauties of the decade. The young 
statesman had been to Boston on state business, it was told, when 
the charms of Mistress Anne Frazier had quite captivated him. He 




The Doorway of the Old Stone House 
Showing- Cathedral Window 



Governor King 121 

had pressed his suit with ardor and had sent fine messages home to 
Bath of his bride's surpassing loveliness. 

Service had begun in the Old North when the hush of the dark- 
ened church was gently broken by the rustle of a silken skirt and 
the bridegroom and his lady appeared. Down the aisle they came, 
observed by all the eager watchers. She indeed fulfilled the rumors 
of her grace. He, his tall figure clad in the famous military coat of 
blue, with its vivid scarlet lining and with his face al:ght with pride, 
looked every inch the "king" his name proclaimed him. 

The young couple took their places in the pew and divine service 
was begun. But following it, on the church green, the ladies and 
gentlemen, leaders in the social and civic life of Bath, welcomed 
Mrs. King to the place of leader, which she filled so graciously until 
her death. 

At the time of his marriage, William King still retained his busi- 
ness interests and home in Topsham. But as his ship-building trade 
had increased and his political importance had enlarged, he had 
built for himself an imposing homestead in Bath, where he could 
superintend from his own grounds the construction and sailing of his 
ships along the Kennebec. He was as well known in Bath society 
the last few years of the eighteenth century as he was in the home 
village of Topsham and was living a greater part of the time in that 
community. In 1800, shortly after his marriage, he moved to Bath 
Vk'ith his bride to make of the mansion there a permanent home. 

From the very beginning of his connection with state and national 
affairs, King had always been a soldier. But it was during the War 
of 1S12, that his services for Maine brought him into military prom- 
inence. 

His correspondence with the war department was voluminous and 
to him was entrusted the safeguarding of the Maine coast in such 
sections as it was feared the English might land. 

War duties took him, now General King, back to his childhood 
home at Dunstan Landing for the first time since he had left it as a 
boy leading his steers. Here the danger from the British was most 
feared and the intrepid leader of the Maine troops was called upon 
from every side to defend the homes of his native town. 

It was at this time, so one of the favorite legends of Saco tells, 
that the doughty old saw mill owner who had treated j'oung King 
with scant courtesy back in 1785 when he was a raw country lad, 
learning his trade, now came to him, a quarter century later, and 
besought him for old times' sake, to protect the property of his for- 
mer master. That King with a royal forgetfulness of personal in- 
jury, did all in his power for this man as for others, is never ques- 
tioned. 

The years following the War of 1812, were again full of political 
strife for General King. In the IMassachusetts legislature he put up 



122 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

a vigorous fight for the separation of Maine from the mother state. 
His forceful personality and his marked eloquence undoubtedly did 
much to support this cause. 

In 1820, when Maine became a Commonwealth in its own right, 
King was a prominent member of the body that formulated the State 
constitution, and his personal genius is responsible for some of its 
leading articles. 

His attitude toward prohibition soon brought him into difficulty, 
for ]\laine, even from its earliest history, has conspicuously concerned 
itself with the liquor question. He was not a drinking man, as such 
things were rated in 1800, but wine was ever served upon his table. 
He believed in temperance, but not in prohibition. 

Various quaint stories of his testy humor remain to emphasize 
his views. It seems that once he was entertaining a famous general 
from out of the state, and in due course during the dinner, wine was 
passed. 

''I never drink," was the reply to this courtesy. 

Later when melons vrere served at dessert, Gen. King poured wine 
upon his fruit and his guest did likewise. King said nothing, but the 
incident was not forgotten by him. 

It chanced that a few days later a .judge, living in Bath, was a 
guest at the King mansion. When wine was proffered him, the 
judge refused. 

"Yv^ill you have it served with a spoon ?" testily inquired his host. 
*'A fortnight ago, General Blank refused to drink any of my wine 
but ate it with a teaspoon." 

At the first state election in 1820, General King was the one nat- 
ural candidate for the office of governor. His election was practi- 
cally unanimous. Everyone in Maine knew him. His personal his- 
tory was a public record ; his political life was an open book that any 
might read, while his universal popularity was almost phenomenal. 
For one year he served Maine as her first magistrate. 

The governor and his lady were a royal pair and in the old 
King mansion where the Bath customs house now stands, many of 
the nation's greatest men found hospitality. 

Though entirely successful in politics, in trade, and in his home 
life, Gov. King found not so much harmony in the church. His 
troubles there were continuous as his views were far too liberal for 
the orthodoxy of early Maine. 

The card parties of a Sunday afternoon, at the big house, were a 
source of never-ending controversy between him and the ministry. 
Often it was the custom of the governor, strolling home from after- 
noon service, to invite a group of intimates to the big house for a 
hand at whist. In the long parlor of the King mansion, with the 
breeze from the Kennebec blowing gently through the room, many a 
gathering of this nature passed a cjuiet Sabbath afternoon. The old 



Governor King 123 

governor was passionately fond of the game and would clap the cards 
down upon the table with a thund'rous noise. But never was he 
known to forget to be the perfect host, and always there was wine 
for the gentlemen and tea for the ladies. After the cards were put 
away, the huge old coach of the Kings would be called forth and the 
guests would be whirled away through the summer twilight behind 
the governor's own fast horses. 

Some worthy of the Old North church, considering it his sacred 
duty to remonstrate with the governor over his evil ways, tooK: him 
to task with the remark : 

' ' Card playing means cheating. I could never refrain from it if 
perchance I were to play." 

Quick as a flash the retort came from Gen. King, whose temper 
never was of the finest: 

"I dare say this is true. But have no fear for me. I never allow 
myself to play in such company as yours." 

Matters went from bad to worse until the governor in a rage sev- 
ered his connections with the Old North and with a sudden shifting 
of course, joined the rival organization of the Old South. He tried 
in vain to induce his wife to join him, with the highly charac- 
teristic though rather profane remark : 

"Jine, Nancy, jine! Good God! Ain't you as good as I am?" 

His argument seems not to have greatly affected Mrs. King as 
no record of her attendance at the Old South has ever been found. 
Later, the governor again had religious dilKculties and returned to 
his allegiance at the Old North Church. 

"It's about like this," said his Excellency. "Once there was 
an obliging young chap of a woodchuek who had dug a hole for his 
winter home and had stored it full of nuts and good things for his 
winter's food. The storms came on and it was bitterly cold, but 
Mr, Woodchuek was comfortable in his warm bed. 

"A shiftless devil of a skunk came along, whining in the cold 
and asked to be let in. Little Woodchuek opened his door and gave 
him hearty welcome. 

"Well, Skunk got warm and time came when he should have 
thanked his host and left. But he didn't. He stayed and stayed 
and ate the Woodchuek 's food and slept in the Woodchuek 's bed. 
Then by and by he began to smell like a skunk and pretty soon things 
got so bad that Mr. Woodchuek had to move out. 

"Then Mr. Skunk settled himself for a long sleep in the warm 
shelter the Woodchuek had made, while poor Woodchuek had to live 
out the winter as best he could in the cold and snow. 

"Now that's about the way it was with me and the church." 

In 1821, at the call of President Munroe, Governor King refused 
renomination as governor of Maine and accepted a place on the com- 
mission appointed to investigate the Florida claims of the United 
States. 



124 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Though at the time he won much adverse criticism by his act 
from Maine people who felt he should have continued to serve his 
own state rather than turn to federal affairs, Gov. King gained much 
distinction for his work on the commission. 

With other notable qualities the stern old governor had a keen 
wit and sense of humor. AVhile on his government mission concern- 
ing the Florida Treaty in 1821, he was walking with another distin- 
guished gentleman, through the streets of a North Carolina town. 
His splendid figure attracted the admiration of two girls who per- 
sisted in following the general and his companion. The men turned 
down a side street but the girls still pursued. At last the patience 
of William King, short at best, was exhausted, and turning abruptly, 
he remarked: 

"Ladies, I assure you, we are not members of Congress." 

Needless to say, the general and his companion continued their 
walk without further embarrassment. 

Toward the last of his life, the mind of the splendid old governor 
lost much of its brilliancy and his later years are clouded with poor 
health, enfeebled intellect and a long series of domestic sorrows, 
which were ended for him only at his death. 

It was on July 17, 1852, at the age of 85 years, that William 
King passed away in his old home city of Bath. The state, in recog- 
nition of his services to her, has erected an imposing granite shaft 
which marks the resting place of one of Maine's greatest sons. 

A visit to Bath discloses much of interest to the sight-seer, inter- 
ested in the life of Maine's first governor. The old mansion by the 
Kennebec is now the site of King Tavern, while a few miles from 
the business section of the town, a quaint old stone house, with tall 
cathedral windows and with the gay garden and spreading trees of 
an olden time, is still standing, just as it was when Governor King 
and his lady so royally welcomed guests to the summer home. 

Note: Erastus Cunningham of Edgecomb, 89 years old, is one of the 
few men living who attended the funeral of Gov. King. Mr. Cunningham 
was made a Master Mason soon after he attained his majority. He was 
raised to the third degree in the lodge at Wiscasset. In his capacity as a 
Mason he attended the funeral of Governor William King at Bath, said 
funeral being, to quote Mr. Cunningham, religious, civic. Masonic and also 
under the auspices of the State. To hear Mr. Cunningham tell this story, 
as we heard it on the porch of the grocery store and post-office at Edgecomb 
on a Saturday in late August of 1916, one would think they buried the old 
governor about six times. We tried to obtain from this very old man some 
personal memories of this funeral, but we found they were very scant. He 
remembered that it took all day, but he could not remember the year or the 
time of the year, or any of the incidents. Mr. Cunningham has perfectly good 
hearing; fairly good eyesight, though he says it is failing; a perfect under- 
standing of current affairs; and is a consistent, unfailing, prompt,^ and unre- 
generate democrat. "I never voted anything but the democratic ticket," said 
he, "and I don't never intend to." A. G. S. 



UNDER JACKSON'S CLOAK; OR THE SAWYER'S 
INHERITANCE 



Under Jackson's Cloak; or the Sawyer's 
Inheritance 

By MRS. HARRY DELBERT SMART 




EVENTY miles up from the Maine coast it lay, this little 
village of Stillwater, lush green gardens dotting it, 
meadows and billowing hills of pasture land encircling 
it richly, then melting into the hardwood and evergreen 
of the great forests beyond. Westward from the 
Penobscot, Stillwater River divided the village, bel.ying 
its name as it threshed noisil}^ over falls and through 
null races and then, remembering to whisper softly under clumps of 
elms and willows, crept beneath the rustic bridges and sang past 
lawns and gardens. And at the end, its work accomplished, the fair 
stream slipped gently into the embrace of the broad Penobscot. 
Cleanly sawed boards in huge heaps of sunny brown hugged close to 
the Stillwater edge mirrored in its blue. Tall, clear spars clambered 
tier above tier as if striving to peep farther down the Penobscot in 
search of shipping, well knowing they held the destiny of broad can- 
vases of many nations, for when the vessels put out from the Maine 
coast, their sails set toward foreign seas, great loads of lumber filled 
their holds, and only when in a c[uarter circle of the globe they had 
traded this for cargoes at twenty ports did they turn their weary 
prows homeward, to be met at last with much rejoicing as wanderers 
of hazard. 

Across Stillwater River a low, weather-stained building, peeping 
from among huge elms, rejoiced in the name of the Cradle of Lib- 
erty. Gay ribands and Sunday coats drifted up its aisles, decorous 
Bible classes met for gossip and instruction, and under the well- 
smoked ceiling spirited discussions arose sometimes upon the Lyceum 
Question, or more often voices grew hoarse upon the imperious topics 
of the day. 

Andrew Jackson's broad garment of state-craft had slipped to 
the meager shoulders of Van Buren, wrapping them in heavy folds 
'broidered with disaster. It was a year of vast import, this year of 
1836. The National Bank reeled drunkenly beneath repeated with- 
drawal assaults. States' Banks sprang up luxuriant as mushrooms 
and with as little real substance. To secure the needed treasury bal- 
last States' lands were offered for sale. A wave of speculation swept 
the country; fortunes grew from promissory notes; men were 
named after their holdings; finance drowned itself in a mad wassail. 
A tidal wave from the breaking surge came rolling in upon little 
Stillwater. The steps of the Cradle had gathered its nucleus of the 



128 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

wealth of the town, the setting sun lay broadly over eager faces. A 
tall man was speaking with a diplomatic drawl: 

" 'Taint like land out west, 'n yer can't expect ter find cities 
there, but ef it's lumber yer wantin' I've got stumpage." 

''What's that No. 6?" Township No. 6 was a strip of land up 
the East Branch and proved a salient title for its owner. 

"It's this way, Grindstone, you'n Webster Plantation are nigher 
and cost less fer toting, but me'n Suncook have never seen an axe, 
we're surely in fer white- water drivin' beyond the blazes — with tim- 
her. Sa\\'yer hez my contract fer a million." 

"Hainf got any more ter sell off'n yours, hev ye? Must be good 
ef Sawyer's in it." Eigby sat up jerkily. "Thought he took of 
Winslow. ' ' 

A soft breeze from the river brought the sound of fallen gang- 
gates, the mill-crew call for supper which served for all the town. 

Among the goodly houses of lumbering and shipping owners was 
the home of Enos Sawyer, with its lawns and gardens. The wide 
kitchen brooded over many children, warmed by the huge, cordial 
fireplace, and fed from the contents of the mysterious, craterous 
brick oven, ever redolent of past feasts and hankering for the fat 
geese, haunches of venison and choice spare-ribs its ravenous interior 
could reduce to the savoriness of the flesh pots of Egypt. 

"Art all alone, Grandma? Where is General Veasie? The 
engine is nigh about ready." 

It was a boyish leap through the window open to the breath of 
the bland, Indian Summer day, but William Burlingame was defer- 
ential enough standing before the old dame, who, gazing out across 
the river, seemed to have peopled the sunny morning with the ghosts 
of other years. A reluctant glance met his. 

"Sit you down, William, you're that tall my eyes get tired look- 
ing up so far. Is it the locomotive you are all mad about that 
brings you? Keep clear of its path, William, for it hath an eye like 
destruction." Deep age-lines that had cut through the fine contour 
'of her features could not rob them of their lofty expression. Her 
glance wandered to the damask-spread table across the room, dainty 
with old silver and china. 

"It isn't far to see it start, Grandma," William's voice was per- 
suasive. 

"Of what use?" her hand caressed a dark, inlaid cabinet upon 
her knee, ' ' I have lived past my day these many years. It were sac- 
rilege that I peep farther into the future. I would people it with 
splendors from the past, William ; they are the heritage of my line ; 
the Mayflower carried many a scion of a noble family on its voyage 
of destiny. Courts and palaces were as ashes upon the lips to the 
adventurous spirit of these daring men — and it was thus with John 
Sawyer. The wide stormy sea — the wilderness — the great, new 



Under Jackson's Cloak 129 

world, all opened arms to him from out the gates of the sunset. His 
spirit still lives, William. And it is a grand heritage waiting across 
the water — kings and princes showered favors upon the Sawyers, 
here are their tolcens, the grant of Cape Elizabeth, the records of gold 
in the Bank of England, and even the ducal coronet. Our Almira 
must have her own. 

"The papers lie in this cabinet, William. They are the circle of 
my life — free my hands that I may rest." She gazed with unsee- 
ing eyes at the freshly kindled log on the hearth and a bitter impo- 
tency grew in the strong face. 

"None seem to know, or care" her lips shook witli a hard breath, 
"It lies witli you, William — " 

Her voice was lost in the lilt of a song coming across the great 
parlor. Welcome shone in the eyes of the two. Nigh a century is 
a far seeing to recall a young man's personality transfigured in his 
granddaughter, but the carriage, the gold in the curls, the blue of the 
eyes were very like and the old dame smiled at the craft of two gen- 
erations. 

And now the town's people had gathered beside the ear track — 
men and maidens, old and young. Their cries reached the kitchen : 

"She will never start, never — never!" 

"She has— she does! 'Rah! 'rah!" 

"Ho, she has tripped! Pick up your feet, Monster!" 

"A stop, a stop! Ha, ha, stuck!" 

A wave of derision filled the valley. 

' ' Fools and their money, Mose Greenleaf ! Fools and their money, 
Sam Veasie!" 

The last cry silenced itself in suspense; slowly, surely, the baf- 
fled mechanism ground along, grumbling, shrilling, around a curve — 
gone. 

It was a proud toast pledged across the wreckage of Thanksgiv- 
ing feasting in Enos Sawyer's kitchen, and a genial host makes 
keen wits, it is said. This one may have kno%vn, for his flagons held 
somewhat of the contents of the hold of his brother's brig, "Light- 
foot, ' ' since the sunny slopes of the Argonne lie in the route of trade 
with the looms of India. Certain it is the momentous day of Novem- 
ber, 1836, slipped out bland and smiling as if with regrets that it 
must leave that gracious atmosphere of congratulation, and in the 
dusk Grandma Sawyer was saying softly as to a visible presence, 
"An' it were stately banqueting halls your Almira were fitting, Enos 
— it is a splendid heritage." 

Taverns did a thrifty business along the wood's trail of the Penob- 
scot, their homely fare and rough beds a haven to the weary men and 
beasts on that far trail. Up beyond the way houses many a camp 
crouched back in the woods, sweet with balsamy fir and within sound 
of logging bells and rippling waters, and even the ring of steel min- 
gled with the deep boom of falling trees. 



130 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

It was the last month of the year, clear and mild. The Matawan 
Trail was guided by a new blaze high above the fallen leaves. Here 
choppers, limbers and swampers followed each the other among the 
trees, ever in the three bands, and whether in the eager strength of 
morning or the lag of noon or night time a frequent call came for the 
number of trees between, sometimes in jest, but always with that bit 
of feeling that cut in the pride of the woodsman. It came out clearly 
now in the lusty shout : 

"Close up, close up, Willie Miehels!" the cry was a challenge. 
"That's it! There you are, ha, ha! Now at his heels! Ho, there, 
Kinkade ! Treed — treed b.y a curly-haired lad in his teens ! Walk up 
and take an axe bit, YVillie ! ' ' The ringing mockery deafened the 
chopper to another and sharper cry: 

"It cracks, my God, it is going — Willie, Oh, Willie!" 

They cut away the branches frantically, even Kinkade, the jfierce 
fire in his eyes gone out. The afternoon sky showed brilliantly blue, 
the sunshine lay on a still form, a lad's curls holding its glory there 
above a deep splotch in the temple. Men with caps hanging from 
tense hands stood by, a yoke of oxen hitched to a team drag waited 
patiently. Back in the woods a sound of chopping trembled on the 
air with a driver's distant call, a bluejay trilled out vibrantly and 
under the leafless December branches panting, boyish lips grew still. 

A sound of hoofs beat earth and air as a rider cantered into view 
arflong the trees. He knew the meaning of that stricken, potential 
group, in a moment was kneeling on the sear leaves. None saw the 
curtain of blue slip out from the sky, nor a graj^-white bank fill in the 
northwest; a wolf's far cry quivered in the slov,- rustle of the wind 
down the valley, growing more and more potent, harassing the soft- 
ness of the air ; an ox lowed uneasily as the sun dropped into the gray 
smother, and another wolf call was answered as though a scent lay 
lightly on the air. The man beside the lad arose — it was Sawyer, his 
stern face grieving. 

' ' I shall start for home with him to-morrow ; tell Shannon to make 
ready. ' ' 

But the morrow wakened to a white vv^aste of snow, earth and air 
(me confusing element. Men and teams were glad of shelter. DawTi 
followed dark in a gray march, the drifts piling up and up. It was 
only when half-light and dusk had counted off five days that the 
sun shone out and a little band issued forth from the camp; they 
made a bed for Willie Miehels under the century-old pines and set a 
wide, green slab, deeply scored with his name, at its head. Down in 
Stillwater his mother grieved, grieved sadly, but understood. It was 
only one of the many tragedies beyond the blaze. 

* * # 

The bitter night nipped sharply at travelers abroad, but within 
the great parlor a keen blaze had crumbled so many logs in magic 



Under Jackson's Cloak 131 

transformation that an atmosphere of benignant summertime lay 
over the logger in his arm chair by the fireside, and even in the far 
corner over tlie dark, old loom against which William Burlingame 
leaned lightly. There his dark eyes and locks were in sharp con- 
trast with the fairness of the girl at her work. 

In other nooks a medley of yellow heads and brown located rip- 
pling, subdued voices, knitting needles clicked rythmically, the pres- 
ence of a mother made itself felt, and in the cosiest corner of the 
hearth, grandma, in her deep rocker, rested her hands in a gleam of 
ebony beneath them. 

' ' Could you make use of another man up the Trail, Mr. Sawyer, 
to take Willie Michel's place?" 

The lathe of the loom ceased to swing. 

"I could were he a man. What could you do with the hands of 
a woman? Strong work lies up the Matawan Trail." 

A quick color arose in the face of the two by the loom, the steady 
resolve in Burlingame 's eyes grew. 

"I'll not disappoint you." 

And now Sawyer swung his chair to face the corner in time to 
catch a quick shaft of sympath.y not intended for him. The treadles 
l)ont with the rapid shift while the bright shuttle slipped between 
the threads on a swift errand and the reed beat up the pattern of 
fine linen. 

"I have to send two yoke of oxen, loaded, and drifts are nearer 
than camp, besides," hesitating, his keen eyes on Burlingame 's face, 
".Rigby said the wolves closed up on his team so he had to shoot." 
The room seemed strangely still for a minute. Sawyer laughed 
shortly. ''Know your way across Matawan Lake if it snows?" 

' ' I have been across. ' ' 

"Make Watson's place first night — ten good days ought to find 
.you at the lake. May get there in time to send a team across. 

"That you, Winslow?" as the outer door swung back to admit a 
tall, stooped figure. 

"That's me. Sawyer. Heerd yer was down an' 'bein' int-rusted 
in loggin' — Haow's my town's timber turning out, man?" He drew 
a chair close to the logger. 

"Proper style, Winslow, proud deal that, proud deal!" 

"How's the Cradle nowadays? Changed your mind on the 
Mexican Policy ? ' ' 

"No, no. Not 'less Rigby has. Can't agi'ee with him. Ef he's 
fer, I'm agin'." 

"Right or wrong?" 

"Right! I'm right which ever. Only need him ter reg'late by. 
Heerd frum Lish, yer say? Kent's darter. Victory, like ter slip 
under William's crown — he that low? The long journey comes to us 
all — mebby he's done his share of mischief so quick — poor man! 
Gladstun refused a peerage!" 



132 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

"Aye; and O'Conuell sits for Ireland in the Imperial Parlia- 
ment before Emancipation has given him the right of candidature. 
Now Ireland stands; and there is a man for you! What's the 
world comin' to with trouble brewin' in India., Guess I'll stay home 
and keep store." 

What was that vibrant tone in her son's voice? Grandma stooped 
toward him with intent eyes. Had a long silent chord responded, 
after generations, to the old-world cry for his birthright? Before 
the aged vision a vista opened. It was adorned with a splendid bro- 
cade woven of eloth-of-gold and the people who walked were courtiers 
for this highway was the highway of the King. The space between 
mother and son changed — took on form and seeming. She heard his 
incisive voice in the halls of Parliament, the steady eye, steely blue 
with unwavering purpose, and her words came brokenly in breath 
too soft for sound. 

"Ah, William! You may have a master hand at the stylus in 
tracing life scrolls, and Almira — " 

The huge forestiek lurched between the andirons burned through 
its middle, the blaze snapping and flaring up the flue. Winslow had 
gone, there was a sound of mother and children on the broad stair- 
case, and in the far corner the now silent loom shrank farther back 
into the shadows that enveloped the two in the deep window-seat. 

"Think you these months you are to lose will not put you at the 
foot of your class, lad?" The girl's words and tone did not fit her 
smile hidden in the gloom, "then what would become of Grandma's 
Legacy you promised me for a dowery against the time when my 
Knight should come riding by — " 

"Knight and Legacy are both pledged, Madam," bowing in mock 
humility, "and as for lessons, they are a sweet breath. It is your 
father who is the dragon in my road, ' ' ruefully. ' ' I look up to him 
an he were a planet." 

"And his daughter, Sir!" 

"I have not his permission to say — but she is dear to me past 
telling." 

In the dusk Almira 's lashes fell. 

Sawyer turned his eyes from the heaped coals and the two brands 
smoking in the corners of the hearth to the dark, old cabinet in 
grandma's lap. Was he seeing with a man's clear vision and did the 
broad lands, even the ducal coronet and cloak of scarlet with all they 
implied find favor at last, or did they still lie like ashes on the lips — 
the new world hold with its appeal. 

Long before daybreak the light from the kitchen flooded the yard 
as hoofs crunched and creaked in the crisply packed snow. The door 
closed sharply and the colt sped up the road taking sight and sound 
of logger and sleigh bells out of ken and leaving only the silent 
oxen with loaded sleds, dim in the shadows. 



Under Jackson's Cloak 133 

"You will wait for father at the lake, "William?" Almira dropped 
the toaster, her face flushed by the open fire. "And the wolves — are 
you not afraid? They are sore hungry now the snow is so deep." 

William's face was anxious. 

"I'm not afraid — of wolves, but Greek and Latin does not make 
for logging." 

"Then why do you log if your talents lie not that way?" 

"It is the measure of a man to a logger and holds no hardship 
aside from failure. Your father hath a grasp of that business be- 
yond my knowing. I would not be a humiliation to either of you." 
The lad's face betrayed the stress of his emotions. 

The firelight lay softly over the kitchen with its warmth and 
brightness, the daintily spread table, the high-backed rockers, rich 
chests of drawers and broad dressers reflecting in polished tops the 
cunning of potter and fineness of clay. It rested as tenderly on two 
figures by the hearth. A softness crept into the girl's eyes raised in 
reply. 

"You could not be that, William, it surely is beyond your know- 
ing. You will do us all proud in the story of grandma's box." 

"Your tongue hath a convincing quality, Madam, and your will is 

— my law." 

* * * 

Laced with black branches, the deep-hollowed road stretched on 
and on under the low-dropping moon, the hoar frost silvered tree 
trail, then the delicate flush of gray dawn grew into gold and, in the 
lee of a clump of firs, a splendid purple light quivered and changed 
like a thing of life. Was there an indescribable presence lurking in 
the shadows of the tall pines, blowing its weird harp in vanishing 
music, filling the vast reaches of hardwood growth and deep ever- 
green coppices with the call of the wild? Cold, rain and snow 
wrapped the woods trail in turn, or mingled. It was a long way to 
fare for the woods road slid off or sank into slushy pools, the down- 
pour drenching all abroad while a pale mist from the river fluttered 
like diaphanous drapery among the bare, mossy, seeping trunks ; and 
now Lake Matawan lay before the traveler in a great sheet of ice, 
dark as water for the most part, but in places beat up into a fluff 
of treacherous honeycomb, in wavering, shelly rifts. A far search 
with hand-shielded eyes revealed a horse and sleigh zigzaging across 
the darkened lake. A fox barked shrilly among the dun flowage on 
the north shore and a sharp wind parted the gray drift to let a splen- 
did shaft of sunset turn to jewels that sudden frost shower. 

The colt drew up, fretting and stamping. Sawyer busied himself 
inspecting the loads beneath the great sail-cloth. 

"Hard trip?" he asked, turning to Burlingame. 

"Ordinary, I guess." William stepped beside the leaders and 
swung his goad. 



134 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

"I got chilly driving, wind is keen. You may take my place for 
a while," with a kindly glance. "You've tramped a bit of a way. 
Tell me about it when we get to bunk. ' ' 

The tall, lean frame of the lumberman swung out over the ice in 
great strides; the weary, sluggish oxen, responding to a master's 
voice and touch, set out briskly. Wadleigh took the other team and 
Kinkade drew the rein over the colt. William tucked himself among 
the robes, his frozen slicker keeping out the wind. Then, free to look 
about him, he saw the heavy sled glide out over the ice, saw the old 
lumberman in the lead and Wadleigh closing up behind. Suddenly 
he straightened. 

"Why don't they separate if the ice is dangerous?" 

"Better ask Sawyer, guess he thinks he's boss here," with a laugh 
at the sharp demand. "Might be int 'rusting ter hear his views." 

"I care not what you say!" William's voice was tense and 
angry. "Drive within hail, Kinkade, that will not implicate you!" 

The man smiled patronizingly. 

"I'll trust Sawyer with what's his'n" — and even as he spoke the 
great logging sleds slipped out into the night. Powerless but uncon- 
vinced, the young man strained his vision in the dusk. Only the 
sound of team bells rang back, mingling with chimes from the sleigh. 
Warmed from the cold, his muscles relaxed after the long journey, 
William drowsed at intervals, but ever caught himself listening, 
searching the night and listening. The horse was going at a walk, 
Kinkade finding it advisable, often, to take the lead and try the ice 
in order to avoid rifts ; the hours seemed a strange, uncanny age. 
They were nearing the head of the lake when a sound, as of a cannon, 
boomed across the darkness. The ice beneath the sleigh shiyered with 
the shock that sent the colt on her haunches. 

"It's that — they've broken through!" William seized the reins 
from Kinkade 's trembling hands. 

"You don't mean — ?" weakly trying to ward off positive assur- 
ance. 

"We must find them," the lad wheeled the horse sharply in the 
darkness. 

"Easy, now!" Kinkade snatched at the lines, "you'll have us 
under water, too. There's chance in this lake to sink an army. 
Lord, man! have a care," but a struggling mass came into view and 
William sprang from the sleigh flinging the lines to Kinkade. 

"Drive for men, tackle and blankets, and drive — drive!" 

It was a frightful mass in the black water — the heavy splash of 
the oxen and those horrible, groaning breaths. In the light of the 
lantern four black heads still arose above the surface. 

Sawyer and Wadleigh held, with desperate strength, to a line of 
rigging attached to an ox yoke, grimly battling to keep the brutes' 
heads above the water. Running steps and a flare of the lantern on 
the ice at his feet assured Sawyer of Burlingame's proximity. 



Under Jackson's Cloak 135 

' ' Take my place, lad, and use your strength. The tongue must be 
cut to loose the sleds or they go down." 

William saw the dark shape of the man creeping farther and 
farther out over the shivering ice, hugging flat ; heard the axe fall 
heavily with the hampered blow and clung with chilling hands to the 
fast freezing rope. The heavy axe plunged surely again and again. 
He thought a distant chime of bells was growing nearer, the Avind 
pierced him, the dark closed around, but the circle of the lantern's 
rays outlined the jagged ice and the black water with the helpless 
beasts struggling in its depths — another plash and the axe had 
ceased to work. William held his breath listening. There was no 
sound. He threw the rope to Wadleigh and grasping the sled tongue 
slid down, was between the laboring oxen. A body washed heavily 
against him, thrust by the heaving of the animal on his right as the 
water surged with its stroke. 

Was Sawyer stunned? He lay heavy and inert in the boy's 
grasp. Drowning men grapple. Many lights blinded the lad, 
voices shouted and a rope end fell by his face. Mechanically the line 
knotted in his fingers about the motionless body, and, loosed of the 
weight, his knees tried weakly to follow his hands in the climb up the 
sled tongue, but the humming in his ears grew past endurance. 

Such a heap of logs piled, cross-piled, with red, reeking tongues 
of flame creeping with a whirring sound through the interstices, ris- 
ing in a united flame up and up. William watched it wearily, nov 
caring to think. Presently the log walls about him took shape, and 
he wondered if stars were peeping down the opening through which 
the smoke arose in volumes, voices came as from a distance. 

"Poor lad, he's about out. It was a grand plunge — quick hands 
and a clear thinkin' — it is life Sawj^er owes him." 

sj: » * 

Red dawn crept in at last, its ruddiness promising hopefully. 
Sawyer and Burlingam^e saw its light as from out a great blank. 
With the return of consciousness came knowledge of the stress of 
business and from his bed the logger gave orders to his crews. 

The weeks slipped by with every man at his post as spring drew 
near, the freezmg at night lasted but through the hours of morning, 
and now the under-thaw was sapping even the m.ain roads. Break- 
fasts were served at midnight and empty sleds came to camp over the 
slush of noontime. It was a good fight and winning, but the cough 
and chills which followed the plunge in the lake grew rather than 
lessened and Sawyer remained in camp. 

"You'd better git home on the snow," Shannon cautioned him, 
"you've had 'bout enough for one winter 'n I can handle all here 
now — hev Biirlingame take ye." 

Despite the cough and weakness every man in camp was sur- 
prised to see Saw^'er quit the woods before the last stick of timber 



136 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

was on the lake and perhaps none were more so than Sawyer himself. 
"I don't understand it!" he muttered again and again on the 
Trail, "but I must get home — home." 

Burlingame threaded a strand of linen through the harness of the 
loom and tendered it to Almira for drawing in the reed. 

"It was grand what you did, William. You know father never 
says much, but he holds you what — you are." 

"And what may that be?" 

"An awkward lad if you upset the baskets and tangle the web." 

"Lad! When shall I be a man, Miss?" 

"It is a long journey, William, and does not lie in years — 
alway. ' ' 

Through that strange spring the last of the logs were dragged 
over made roads, and the ice broke up in the lakes leaving a clear 
line to the sea by the middle of April. 

Back at the landing the Matawan boss was ready with men and 
tackle for booming the lakes and now great fires were kindled all along 
the river. Boat crews separated each logger's cut, the men working 
day and night for the river never slept and there was no other chance 
to catch the logs for sorting. A sharp change of temperature chilled 
the rain to snow that beat in the faces of the drivers, icing the log 
marks past recognizing. Clothing v/as soaked and then frozen, a slip 
on the icy logs might mean life pounded out by the oncoming drive. 
Many logs drifted out to sea ; others, lodged by a rapid fall of water, 
choked the streams. Summer came. 

The great financial panic of 1837 was permeating every branch 
of industry. Money that had been issued by national and state 
banks came in already repudiated ; metal had paid for the importa- 
tion of luxuries from across the water ; the country was without hard 
money save for that one foresight of Andrew Jackson which re- 
quired that public lands be paid for in gold and silver, and even 
these had changed hands so many times that their present holders 
had given script to men who had themselves given script. This 
paper was now due. Men, who had paid hard money for chimerical 
western cities giving paper for a part loan, were swept off their feet 
to meet panic stricken demands. 

In Stillwater many stores were closed till lumbering settlements 
could be made. Mills had ceased to work and the river was filled 
with logs waiting to be sawed, but with no money to pay workmen. 
A silence fell over the little village. Men lounged about in groups, 
talking abolition and the last battle with the Seminoles, then went 
home with empty hands to empty cupboards. 

Winslow had closed his store with the rest, remarking: "They all 
Avant to pay paper fer corn'n tea, an' wholesalers wunt take it. I 
can't feed all Stillwater," jingling the few coins in his pockets. 




"The Pioneer " 

First Locomotive Ever Run in Maine 

This Engine was built by Robert Stephenson & Co., of Newcastle- 

on-Tyne, in 1835. Its first trip over Banoor, Oldtown & Milford 

Railroad, November, 1S86— Last Trip August, 1867. 





The Sawyer Coat of Arms 



Elmira Sawyer 



Under Jackson's Cloak 137 

"Is it because my sturapage hasn't been settled, that you do 
this?" Sawyer asked from the hearth rug of his parlor. His lean 
frame was thin to emaciation now and a restless weariness was in his 
movements, a great pity and impatience lay in the deep eyes. 

*'No, no, Sawyer! No hurry. I'm hevin' my little corn mush, 
'n' bein' mush 'stead of loaves and fishes it wunt boil the kittle fer all 
Stillwater. Keep you quiet when yer gold comes in an' I'll bury it 
in an iron pot like Captain Kidd did. It'll be safer thet way — guess 
we all would be," chuckling grimly. His eyes met Sawyer's and 
winced as from a thrust. 

"Mebby you bed better git inter business. Better look inter yer 
affairs," rising jerkily. 

"When Lish comes. I'm tired, Winslow; and it won't be a lad's 
work to do everything that needs reckoning these days." 

Winslow 's suggestion was repeated by many men, but always 
elicited the same reply. "When Lish comes I'll settle. I'm tired 

now. ' ' 

* * * 

Summer slipped by and the great oxen, that had been rescued 
from the lake, grazed with others on the sunny pasture slopes, fruit 
came in its season, but gardens and plowed fields flourished weeds in- 
stead of grain, and the pinch of want crept into homes that had 
known only plenty. Then, one day, Enos Sawyer slipped out very 
quietly. Men, hearing of his going, came from far and near for 
he had dipped deep in business and finance, and they laid him away 
— a comrade in the work of the world. 

And now his paper began coming in. While the man, himself, 
sat by the fire or looked from his door, confidence had remained un- 
shaken for it was a clear eye and able hand in control, but now he 
was gone. 

"I can't git over it," Winslow grumbled. 

"Let's see! Was that stumpage settled'/" Rigby quizzed. 

Winslow eyed the man from head to foot, his lean, stooped figure 
almost straightening itself. "All men don't hev jackal thoughts, 
Art Rigby. Him that's gone was a man." 

The mother of the bereft family, Clarissa Sawyer, now broken 
and worn, searched for records, tried to recollect the few words her 
reserved husband had spoken on business, turned a face of un- 
swerving faith and patience to all. 

"You shall have what is yours. He would want it should be so," 
was ever on her lips. 

Gradually the work slipped into William's hands. He had been 
with Sawyer and in his confidence as much as any. Records were 
turned over and over again and again to no purpose. The fabric 
Sawyer had built, sapped here and there by paper money and dis- 
honesty, crumbled. The National Bank may have had his gold. 



138 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Biddle never admitted it — and there was but one result of such in- 
quiry. Anxious and distraught Burlingame came into the Sawyer 
parlor. A September glory of warmth and color lay over the room, 
goldenrod heaped the hearth, apples red as wine filled a basket on 
the table, while asters in delicate shades leaned out over the mantle 
vases. The spindle and loom grew quiet. It was this they had 
waited for through the long days. Words were slow in coming. 

"You will have this house and lot — " He missed the shriek of 
saws down the river perhaps for the first time, his lips getting stiff. 
Across the river the Cradle of Liberty must be humming with recita- 
tions. The children were gone from kitchen and parlor, even Enos 
and little Mahalah. He turned from the window and lifted his face 
to the three women. 

"—That is about all." 

The mother of the brood stepped into the kitchen with a brisk 
word and the door closed. 

Grandma slipped up to her room closely clasping the dark box 
and whispering: 

"The crest has tJie strawberry leaves— that is a duchy, and the 
falcon — Ah, William! You will heed now, and my Almira — " 

In the long parlor William sat down weakly, his head in his 
hands. Had he done his best — if he knew — if he but knew ! It was 
such a bitter ending and they had trusted him. The sunshine mocked 
his baffled desire for service. Of what use was the good work he had 
done in his books? What need to go on? 

And now through the confused irritation of his mind came a shaft 
of light. Perhaps Grandmother's Legacy had a real working basis 
even for his mind. Lie would empty the inlaid bos of its contents, 
work out the long line of heredity and, then if it might be, lay the 
title to lands and gold, even the ermine and crest at the feet of its 
rightful inheritor. He saw the girl regally clothed, her fair face 
shining out like a star. Saw, among courtiers, the hand that had 
plied the shuttle, bearing the silver rod of her estate. Wooing and 
betrothal flashed out in the picture and the brows of the thinker got 
damp in his hands, the breath of his lips hurt; there was a princely 
wedding and the old line proudly made its offering of brave sons and 
fair daughters who, equally loyal, should perpetuate — in love and 
honor. 

William Burlingame stood up and the familiar room, mellowed in 
sunshine ; the dark, old loom ; the spinning wheel ; even the fresh 
tufts of goldenrod on the hearth had a look of unreality of the frame 
of a picture with a blank in the place of a dear, accustomed face. 
He was seeing the girl half the distance of the room away, realizing 
how much wider that distance must grow by his own efforts only, for 
the blue eyes were meeting his full of understanding for his recent 
defeat. As he gazed a shyness crept into the imperious face, the 



Under Jackson's Cloak 139 

glance avoided his; was he only to hold this trust till another came 
to claim — never gather for himself? He told the girl his plan very 
quietly ; that his resolve was made and that it but needed the records 
he should find to win a circlet to bind her brow. 

A joyous laugh brought the picture back to its setting. 

"A pretty romance, truly, Sweet William, but not befitting a 
New England maiden who hath John Sawyer for ancestor and with 
her knight — pledged. Or else, so it please you, she will wait till an- 
other come riding by." 

"You gave no pledge, Almira; I only — " And now the curls 
fell over the flushed face for the distance no longer lay between them. 
''Shall we keep it together, Almira — here?" 

"Aye, William." 

Neither of the two saw grandma at the door. She was standing 
with her clasped hands over her heart, an inlaid box hugged tightly 
beneath them; a white, set strangeness crept over her features, her 
eyes held a haunted darkness. A joyous call came up the river path. 
'"Uncle Lish is home with the 'Lightfoot'!" but she heeded it not. 
The two young people went to meet him down the hill, and in the 
eyes of William Burlingame lay the trust that had become his. The 
chatter of school children hovering about the bronzed, old seaman 
reached them and they joined the happy throng. 

The lumber had sold well, the hold was full of stores, the lockers 
of gold. It had been a good voyage and this was truly a glad wel- 
come home. The parlor door swung back to admit the gay company. 

Before the hearth sat grandma, white and crumpled like a bit 
of parchment, an empty inlaid box was open on her knee and under 
the scorched goldenrod between the andirons lay a heap of blackened 
papers. 

* * * 

Author's Note : My authorities for my story are Sketches of Oldtown by 
David Norton, The Sawyer Genealogy and Family Tradition, stories of early 
logging I have heard and the story of the Sawyer Inheritance as told me by 
my great-aunt, Mrs. Alvin Lenfest, in substance as follows: The Sawyers were 
of English family holding a duchy, of which the strawberry leaves in the crest 
is the emblem. Of these Sawyers an Edmund Sawyer died, leaving no wife, 
children or will, and a large fortune was never administerd upon (I find this 
latter a fact from data in our Bangor library). A grant of Cape Elizabeth to 
a Sawyer with papers proving titles, genealogy, etc., was supposed to be in 
grandma's cabinet. Grandma had been so sure that William Burlingame was 
to be a scholar and bring about the great desire of her life that the loss of her 
son's fortune made for delight, bringing the necessity of this nearer. The 
shock of finding that William had decided against school and therefore the 
probability that the claim to the inheritance never would be proved, caused her 
despair culminating in the destruction of the papers. 



FATHER RASLE AND HIS STRONG BOX 




Father Rasle and His Strong Box 

By HENRIETTA TOZIER TOTMAN 

PRELUDE 

N THE picturesque waters of the beautiful Kennebec 
no village of the Indians presented more attractions 
than Old Point, where stood the pleasant little hamlet 
of Narrantsouk.^ "A lovely sequestered spot in the 
depth of nature's stillness, on a point around which the 
waters of the Kennebec, not far from their confluence 
with those of Sandy River, sweep on in their beautiful 
course, as if to the music of the rapids above; a spot over which the 
sad memory of the past, without its passions, will throw a charm, 
and on which one will believe that the ceaseless worship of nature 
might blend itself with the aspirations of Christian devotion. ' '^ And 
one will turn from this place with the feeling that the hatefulness 
of the mad spirit of war is aggravated by such a connection with 
nature's sweet retirement. 

" Rasle 's'' Village," a name oft used in place of Narrantsouk, was 
built on the land as it gently rose above the intervale. The huts were 
erected on either side of a path some eight feet wide. The church, 
surmounted by a cross, was neatly constructed of hewn timber and 
was by far the most imposing building in the place. It stood some- 
what back from the narrow path, at the lower end of the village. 

Graphically described in the following lines of Whittier, is the 
chapel, the scenery and, lastly, the Jesuit priest. 

"Yet the traveller knows it a house of prayer, 
For the sign of the holy cross is there; 
And should he chance at that place to be, 
Of a Sabbath morn, or some hallowed day, 
When prayers are made and masses are said 
Some for the living and some for the dead; 
Well might that traveller start to see 
The tall, dark forms that take their way, 
From the birch canoe on the river shore 
And the forest paths to that chapel door; 
Marvel to mark the naked knees, 

^Father Rasle's spelling as used in his letters to Vaudreuil, Gov. of Canada 
— Narrantsouk — Indian name for Norridgewock. 

^Francis in his "Life of Father Rasle." 

•Jesuits' M.S. Dictionary of the "Abnaki" language gives spelling Rale 
(often used), Rasles or Ralle, used by different writers. 



144 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

And the dusky foreheads bending there. 
While in coarse white vesture, over these 

In blessing or in prayer, 
Stretching abroad his thin, pale hands, 
Like a shrouded ghost the Jesuit stands." 

The church, richly decorated with pictures of the crucifixion and 
of other events in Biblical history, was well adapted to make a deep 
impression upon the minds of the Indians. "Silver plate was pro- 
vided for the sacramental services."^ 

Father Rasle — for it is he around whom this story centres— with 
apostolic self-denial and zeal, had been laboring amitist the solitudes 
of that remote wilderness for a period of thirty-five years. He had 
made many converts and had won, to an extraordinary degree, the 
love and devotion of the whole tribe. 

By birth he was a gentleman of illustrious family, possessing ac- 
complishments and education, isolated from home and friends, liv- 
ing in a cabin in the vv'oods in a countrj^ foreign to his birth and sur- 
rounded only by the "white man's friends" as the Indians chose to 
call themselves. And yet in his letters to his nephew in France never 
can we detect a murmur in view of the hardships of his life. 

It seems difficult to imagine any motive sufficiently powerful to 
induce a gentleman of refinement and culture to spend his days in 
the wigwams of the savages, endeavoring to teach them the religion 
of Jesus, unless that motive be a sincere desire to serve God. 

The English Protestants brought with them to the new world a 
very strong antipathy to the bigoted Catholicism which had been the 
bane of the Old World. They did not love their French neighbors 
and were greatly annoyed at the recession of the Acadian provinces 
to France. The troubled times very speedily obliterated all the 
traces which the king's commissioners had left behind them. 

England was far away. The attention of her contemptible King, 
Charles II., to the remote colonies, was spasmodic and transient. It 
was to Massachusetts alone that the widely scattered inhabitants of 
Maine could look for sympathy in time of peace or for aid in war. 

There were no bonds of union between the Catholic French of 
Nova Scotia and the Puritans of New England. They differed in 
language, religion and in all the habits of social life. Those very 
traits of character, which admirabh^ adapted the French to win the 
confidence of the Indians, excited the repugnance of the English. 
The pageantry of their religious worship, which the strong-minded 
Puritans regarded as senseless mummery, was Avell adapted to catch 
the attention of the savage. Thus the French and the Indians lived 
far more harmoniously together than did the Indians and the Eng- 
lish. 

^Williamson. 







rj 




M 


1^' 







Father Rasle's Stroncj Box 



The Chapel Bell 



Father Rasle and His Strong Box 145 

Captain Moulton had been an active military man in his younger 
days; but having been severely injured following the Rasle expedi- 
tion, he had withdrawn to a country estate and passed his best years 
there with his wife and child. After he became a widower, a spirit 
of unrest seemed to drive him over the earth, and it was only from 
time to time that he made a brief appearance among his old friends. 
He was a stately, handsome man, even yet. His hair, although 
streaked with gray, stood thick and curly above his high, bronzed 
forehead and in his eyes gleamed a quiet fire which told of imper- 
ishable youth. 

At the time our story opens, in April of 1744, we find him and 
his idolized daughter, Sylvia, guests in the home of his sister in the 
prosperous village of York. 



SCENE I. 

At the Fireside. 




F AVHAT were we speaking," asked Captain Moulton, 
"was it not of people's inability to imagine situations 
Vv-hich they themselves have never been through? 
How can one expect it of them since the individual 
himself cannot always comprehend what he has unde- 
niably felt. When I look back to those troublous times 
and observe everything calmly from a distance, I al- 
most question — perchance Father Time is playing sad tricks with 
this memory bump," tapping his head by way of emphasis. 

The conversation now turned to the early days of 1722. "Yes," 
said the Captain, "the waves of party spirit ran high. So much dis- 
cord existed betw^een Gov. Shute^ and the House, that he, at length, 
tired of war controversy, without popularity, pleasure or emolument, 
formed the resolution of leaving the chair which he had filled some 
six years, and in December he embarked for England.- 

' ' Our relations with the Indians had been assuming a bad posture 
and in some measure to overcome the feeling of hostility the govern- 
ment changed its more vigorous or violent measures to schemes cal- 
culated to soften the asperities of the Indians, and to Bomassen, an 
old, influential sachem of Norridgewoek, they sent a valuable present, 
hoping to enlist his influence on the side of reconciliation." 

"But why a present to Bomassen more than to chiefs of other 
tribes?" asked Erick Lynde, who had just returned with his friend, 
Lawrence, from Fort Richmond, where they had been sent as com- 
missioners by Gov. Shirle}^, to consider the rightful fishing sites and 

1 Samuel Shute, Governor 1716 . . 1722. 

^Samuel Shute, Governor. Left for England, Dec. 27, 1722. 



146 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

hunting grounds of the natives, as claimed by a number of Sagamores 
who had convened with them there. ''To me it never seemed clear, 
Captain Moulton, why Norridgewock and Father Rasle were ever in 
the greatest danger. Oft during the first few years of my life did I 
hear the Indians, when lying at easy length on their fur robes, 
talk of the French as their friends, and you, the English, as against 
them. They complained that you had broken the treaty of Arrow- 
sick.^ In heated discussion they accused you of erecting no trading 
houses ; of providing at public charge no smiths or armories for the 
accommodation of the Indians; of establishing no public places 
where, in fair barter, furs and skins could be exchanged for ammu- 
nition and clothing. Opened seemed the veins of war when, through 
the good father, word reached them that the General Court resolved 
that there were reasons still existing, sufficient to prosecute the East- 
ern Indians."^ 

"Well do I recall that decision, my friend, for it called me away 
from my wife and my daughter — Sylvia, you were then in swaddling 
clothes, a mere baby. This old leg of mine was not disabled then. I 
could travel the streams and tlie rivers and pierce the unbroken for- 
ests Vv'ith the 'best of blood.' " 

Somewhat remote from the fireside, sat Aunt Anna, busily click- 
ing her needles, while a stocking fast grew 'neath her tingers. "Cap- 
tain," said she, "memory with me is a bit tricky, but I seem to recall 
the day when you came to me and, taking my two hands in yours, 
said, 'Sister Anna, I am ordered to Norridgewock to seize the noto- 
rious Rasle.^' Anxiously we awaited your return, I, baby Sylvia, 
and her mother. And when at last you were with us, I can seem to 
see how breathlessly we waited for your account of the perilous ex- 
pedition, for it was the month of December exposure and hardships. 
Tell us to-night, as you did then." 

"Well! then, to begin," replied the Captain. "Our expedition 
in '23 was fruitless, not having caught sight of a single Indian. The 
storms of winter beat dovrn upon us and its drifting snows encum- 
bered our path. A warm rain followed, known in Maine as the 'Jan- 
uary thaw.' The deep snows melted. A swollen torrent seemed 
every stream. Not till Feb. 6 did we reach the falls of Brunswick. 
It was not wisdom that, at that season of the year, dictated such an 
enterprise. A 'thousand livres'* was the price set upon his head, 
thus you can see there was a strong universal desire to make Rasle 

iWilliam ... p. 92. Treaty of Arrowsick. 

^Williamson says : "Both in and out of the legislature there were men who 
doubted whether a war upon the natives would be justiliahle." 

^Williamson, 1723. 

^Collections of Mass. Hist. Society, Vol. VIII, p. 266. A livre was a 
French coin valued at about eighteen and three-quarters cents. It is now 
superseded by the franc. 



Father Rasle and His Strong Box 147 

a prisoner.^ We toiled on and by a totally unexpected route thought 
to take the Indians by surprise. We arrived at the village undiscov- 
ered, but before we could surround the Jesuit's home, he escaped in- 
to the woods, leaving his books and papers in his 'strong box.'^ This 
we took and no other damage was allowed. Among his papers were 
his letters of correspondence with the Governor of Canada, by which 
it appeared that he was deeply engaged in exciting the Indians to a 
rupture and had promised to assist them." Here he paused, as if 
buried in thought. 

Aunt Anna broke the silence. "But, brother," said she, "there 
is more of interest. Have you forgotten the sealed package? You 
remember the faded name it bore — Arich Synde — and then in a 
clearer hand the words, 'From your loving mother.' " 

"Yes, yes, it all comes back to me, Anna. To be sure, memory 
plays strange tricks with us old people. I used to think that perhaps 
I might find the lad, but in all my travels, never once have I heard 
the name; let me think, we called the name "A rich Syn-de — am I 
right, Anna — and where is the box and the package?" 

"I will get it for you," she replied and quietly retired from the 
room. 

"We don't want to weary you. Uncle," said Lawrence, "but that 
story of Captain Harman and yourself. It is the most thrilling of 
all and Erick, you know, is leaving us on the morrow." 

"Captain Moulton, your story draws a tear from my heart. It 
carries me back to my first recollection of Father Rasle and his fol- 
lowers, dearest among w^hom was the wife of IMogg,^ ' The Fearless. ' 
I can almost feel the warmth of her hand and the love in her song 
as she oft rocked me to sleep on her bosom." 

Turning to Lawrence, he said, "You know somewhat of my life, 
those twelve years ere the saintly father was killed by the hands of 
the English,* and more I will tell you, but continue. Captain Moul- 
ton; it is the thread of your story that holds me. Perchance you 
may hold the link between me and my people. God grant it ! I have 
wandered far and near since those days, when a wigwam was all the 
home I knew, and had it not been for the death of a son in the home 
of Thomas Leighton I might never have felt the warmth of a home 
fireside. He and his wife have given unsparingly of their love to me, 
but there is yet one prayer unanswered. May it please God to some 
day give me knowledge of my parents! There's but one known link 

iRasle's letter. 8 Coll. Mass. Hist. Soc. p. 266-7. 

2Williamson speaks of the "strong box" as having been stolen by the 
English at this time. 

3Mogg— famous Indian chief— Norridgewock. 

^Williamson : "The general feeling of the British towards Rasle was that 
of the most intense hostility." 



148 • The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

between me and my mother — 'tis this baby ring and the words en- 
graved on it, "Erick Lynde Sept. 7, 1710." 

"We want more of Erick's life story," said the Captain, "and 
the box, we will open that, yes, here comes Anna! — but I will first 
tell you of my last expedition." He paused. "Ah, but 'tis sad to 
relate and I would that it were not to pain you, Erick ! You loved 
Rasle, 'Father Rasle' as you called him and what I have to tell you, 
may it never sever our friendship." 

"Never fear, Captain JMoulton, here's my hand; 'Once your 
friend, always j^our friend,' is my motto!" 

" Well, then, here 's my story and don 't ask me for more, Lawrence. 
Age softens and dulls the edge and now I find in my heart love and 
pity for him who was friend to the 'redskins.' " 

Then in his direct, brief style he began his narration of the last 
expedition to Old Point. "Norriclgewock being still the residence of 
Kasle, early in the fall of the year 1724, I think it was August, and 
the date of your birthday, Sylvia. You remember after my return 
that I taught you to draw with a stick in the sand, the figures 19; 
well, that was the date ! I was about to tell you that I, together with 
Captains Ilarman, Bourn, and Bane (all good men), commanded a 
detachment of 208 men divided into four companies to march against 
Norridgewock. We left Richmond Fort, our place of rendezvous op- 
posite Swan Island, on the 19th of August, 1724, and ascended the 
river in seventeen whale-boats, accompanied by three Mohawks. The 
next day we arrived at Teconnet, where we left our whale-boats and 
Lieutenant with a guard of forty men. 

"The residue of the forces commenced a rapid march at daybreak 
of the 21st, through the woods to Old Point, hoping to strike the foe 
by surprise. On the eve of that day, just as the sun was setting, we 
saw three natives and we fired upon them. The noted Bomassen,^ to 
whom Governor Shute and the House had sent that valuable pres- 
ent', was one of them and with him his wife and daughter. The 
chief, while trying to escape through the river, was shot, his daughter 
we fatally wounded and his wife we took as a prisoner. A little 
after noon of the 22d we came in sight of the village where we had 
decided to divide the detachment, thereby hoping to encircle the vil- 
lage and cut off all escape. Captain Harman, imagining he saw 
smoke rising in the direction of Sandy River, and supposing that 
some of the Indians might be at work in their corn-fields, marched 
off sixty men, while I formed my men into three bands nearly equal 
in numbers. Two of these were placed in ambush, while the re- 
mainder were marshalled for an impetuous charge. 

"I commanded my men to hold their fire until after that of the 
Indians, then boldly and quickly advance, in profound silence. This 

^Drake's Book of the Indians — Bomassen's death. 
^Governor Shute, 1719. 



Father Rasle and His Strong Box 149 

they did and before their approach was suspected thej^ were within 
pistol shot of the Indians. One Indian happening to look out of his 
wigwam discovered us close at hand. He gave a war-whoop and 
sprang for his gun. The consternation of the whole village seemed 
terrible. About sixty of the fighting Indians seized their guns and 
fired, but in their tremor they overshot and not a man of ours was 
hurt. Then followed the discharge from our men which disabled and 
killed many; this was returned without breaking our ranks. Then, 
fleeing to the river to escape, they fell upon the muzzles of our guns 
in ambush. Several instantly fell, otliers attempted to swim and 
some to wade across the river which was not more than six feet deep 
and about sixty feet wide. 

''A few jumped into their canoes but in their excitement, they 
had failed to take their paddles and thus were unable to escape. The 
old men, v/omen and children fled in every direction. In their mad 
rush fire faced them on every hand. It was thought that not more 
than fifty landed on the opposite bank of the river, while only one 
hundred and fifty made their escape into the thickets who were pur- 
sued by us, but not overtaken.^ 

"Our men then returned to the village and here we found the 
Jesuit and an English boy- in one of the wigwams firing upon a few 
of our men who had not followed the wretched fugitives. One of 
our captains, who has a 'spreading tongue,' said that he saw Rasle 
shoot the boy through the thigh and then stab him in the body,^ 
though he ultimately recovered, such I know for a fact as he was 
taken captive by the Mohawk who set fire to the village, and a year 
later accompanied Captain Bourn to Canada. I had giv^en orders to 
capture but not to kill Rasle, but Jaques, one of my lieutenants, saw 
the Jesuit wound one of our men, and he then broke open the door 
and shot him through the head.* I recall that Jaques in his effort 
to justify his disobedience, alleged that when he entered, Rasle was 
loading his gun and declared that he 'would neither give nor take 
quarter. ' 

"Then there was a noted chief, an aged man, Mogg by name. 
Captain Bourn told us that he saw one of the three Mohawks fall 
when Mogg fired into their midst and this act so enraged the Indian's 
brother that he returned the fire and the old Sagamore fell dead. 
The soldiers quickly dispatched his squaw and children. Of his squaw 
I shall have something to tell you later; something quite foreign to 

^Opinions differ as to numbers. 

^Several authorities state that an English boy about 14 years of age was 
taken captive by the English, 1724 — "Last expedition to Old Point." 

^Hutchinson (2 Hist. p. 282) says this act of cruelty was stated by Captain 
Harman, senior in command, upon oath. (But still is doubted — 8 Coll. Mass. 
Hist. Soc. 2d series, p. 257.) 

♦Williamson. 



150 The Ti^ail of the Maine Pioneer 

man "s nature, but close to the heart of a woman. But to go on. Near 
night after the massacre was over and the village deserted by the In- 
dians, Captain Harman and his party arrived, and placing a guard 
of forty men, the companies slept in the wigwams. In the morning, 
when it was light enough to see, a search was made and, including 
Rasle, there were thirty bodies found cold and stiff stretched on the 
ground; Mogg, Job, Carabesett, W'issemement, and Bomassen's son- 
-in-law, all known and noted warriors, were among them. Three 
captives were recovered, and one, who for years had found kindness 
and shelter in the wigwam of '^logg the noted,' and four prisoners 
were taken" — and Captain Moulton paused and sighed as though 
wearied by the painful recollection. 

Lawrence started to speak, then turned to Erick, his friend, but 
observing his clinched hands and unusual pallor, he asked — ''Are you 
ill? Does your wound pain you, Erick?" 

'"Xo, thank you, not ill. but the fate of the boy captive has stirred 
my heart." And in whispered words continued, "^layhap, I, who 
did live among them, who have kno^^n neither father nor mother, may 
be that most unfortunate English boy." 

Captain Moulton, who seemingly had seen not nor heard this 
brief conversation, took up the thread of the story and continued: 

' ' The whole number killed and drowned was eighty or more. Our 
plunder consisted of plate and furniture of the altar, a few guns, 
blankets and about three barrels of powder. 

"After leaving the desolate homes and well on our march to 
Teconnet, Christian, one of the ]\Iohawks, whether influenced by some 
member of the party or of his own accord, suddenly left us, returned 
to the village and set fire to the chapel and cottages." Then, waxing 
eloquent as he oft did when he neared the end of a story or argument, 
"From the celebrated Canibas tribe, dating from this bloody event, 
the glory departed, to return nevermore. And down through the 
annals of history, since the death of King Philip no more brilliant 
exploit, in the Indian wars, has been recorded than this, our last ex- 
pedition to Old Point. 

"You know me now as Lieutenant-colonel, but here by Anna's 
fireside, I am always 'Captain,' and I like it! Promotions are some- 
times hard to win, but the men said that the distinguishing recom- 
pense belonged to me, but Harman, who was senior in command, pro- 
ceeded to Boston with the scalps and received a reward for the 
achievement, the commission of Lieutenant-colonel. My men said 
that 'Superior rank had shaded superior merit,' but the universal 
applause of this country was mine and that was enough. My title of 
Colonel dates back to the days of Pepperell when I was made Lieu- 
tenant-colonel in the militia under his command. 

"I neglected to mention that while we were on our return to Fort 
Richmond, and without the loss of a single man, my old leg here was 



Father Rasle and His Strong Box 151 

disabled — due to the blow of a savage? No, due to a falling pine of 
the forest that made me a target." 

He rose. "Give me my cane, Lawrence, I am growing to be de- 
pendent upon it. A member of the Provincial Council and Judge of 
the Common Pleas^ suits me better now that Father Time has placed 
his finger upon me." 

"But, Captain, stay, here is the 'strong box,' " said Anna, "and 
the key hangs above the fire-shelf. ' ' 

Lawrence rose to get it. 

"But the story, your friend's story, Lawrence." And turning 
and laying a soft hand on her father's shoulder, Sylvia asked, "May 
we hear that before you open the 'strong box?' " 

"Yes, yes, daughter mine;" then he turned to Erick and said 
' ' let us hear your story now. ' ' 

"It is not much I have to tell," he replied, "this much and this 
much only, I know of my past. It came by the way of my old foster 
mother, the wife of ^logg. She told how the warriors fell upon Y*'in- 
ter Harbor and returned bringing me, a baby, among other captives. 
That she pitied the wee, pink bit of flesh and persuaded Mogg, her 
husband, to allow her to bring me up with their children ; that no 
blood of the redskins was in my veins, she felt sure, as Mogg knew 
of my mother, and that papers they gave to Father Rasle told some- 
thing of my father. 

"Years came, years went; I lived among them, learning their 
ways, their religion, and feeling their 'big hearts.' Fcither Rasle I 
loved as did his Indian followers, and as a child I knew not but good 
of this Jesuit. Captain Moulton, those expeditions of yours struck 
terror to the hearts of those people. 

"May I return to your last expedition, following which, the In- 
dians who had escaped to the woods returned to the smouldering 
ruins? 

' ' The story of the fall of the boy captive is false. I was that boy 
and the scar from the wound," laying his hand gently on his thigh, 
"is here, but it was made on the day before when I was out hunting 
with some Indians. I slipped and fell on a knife used by one of the 
men while dressing some fish for our dinners. The shot from Father 
Rasle 's gun was aimed at one of your men, but just at that time he 
fell, by the hand of Jaques, and the gun changed position and I was 
the victim. Then realizing that escape was impossible, I hid myself 
in an underground cellar beneath the wigwam, and there I remained 
until ]\Iohawk returned and made m,e a captive. We hid in the near- 
by woods and watched the Indians return to their deserted village. 

"Even the stoicism of the savage w'as overcome by the sight of 
the gory bodies. Their first care was to find the form of their be- 

iWilliamson, p. 226. 



152 



The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 



loved missionary. This they did, and with prayers and loud lamenta- 
tions buried the remains below the altar, where the evening before he 
had celebrated the sacred mysteries and, having completed this task, 
they raised a rude cross to commemorate the memory of their loved 
one. Then, with such solemnities as they had been taught, they 
buried their chief Bomassen, whose body they found in the woods 
v\fhere your men had left it. Thus, having finished their painful task, 
they turned sadly from their homes which their ancestors had occu- 
pied through countless generations and sought refuge with the Penob- 
scots. And from that date, blotted forever from the register of the 
Indian tribes has been the historic name of the Norridgewoclcs. " 

"There is but one tiling more before we separate for the night," 
said Anna, "Captain, if I am right this 'strong box,' which perchance 
Erick has seen in the past, has not been opened for a good tv/enty 
years. The papers may be worn and more faded, let us see." 
Whereupon Captain Moulton proceeded to unlock and remove one by 
one the contents. Lastly of all he came to the sealed package and 
holding it to the light read as before the name Arich Synde. Then, 
shading his eyes with his hand, he seemed lost in thought. Light 
seemed to break — "Erick, come nearer. What is this faint line I see 
above the A ? Does it help to form some other letter? Your journey 
takes you over our paths of old. Perchance you will find someone 
who has knowledge of this package. Take it and use it as you like. 
To me it can have no further interest and if left here it will soon 
break in pieces, the seal even now hangs too loosely." Then, closing 
and turning the key in the "strong box," he said, "The hour is late, 
let us separate for the night." 



SCENE III. 



In the Garden. 

RICK arose and walked to the window ; feeling depressed 
he stepped out on the lawn and walked to and fro on the 
lower part of the terrace, gazing absent-mindedly over 
the shimmering lake, and now and then hearing a de- 
tached word from the conversation of the people within. 
The warm night wind seemed as soothing as Motlier 
Mogg's Indian lullaby legends; the stars blinked like 
eyes which can scarcely keep themselves open. A fine mist moved 
slowly across the heavens, weaving a veil over the shining firmament. 
A slight rustle of the graiss and Erick turned to behold Miss 
Moulton. 

"Bear in mind," said he, "we shall be wakened from our first 
sleep by a spring thunder storm." 






Father Rasle Monument at Old Point 



Father Rasle and His Strong Box 153 

He had never seen her so beautiful; her face was unusually pale; 
her beautiful eyes glistened as if a slight shower had passed over 
them. A certain air of timidity made her seem girlish, indeed. 
Never before had he felt so clearly what a treasure she would be to 
a man. 

' ' You are ill, ' ' he said, ' 'you are suffering from the sultriness. ' ' 

She neither answered nor glanced at the heavens, but continued 
to look fixedly at the ground. Suddenly she began, "So you are 
leaving us on the morrow, my father tells me." 

"Yes, Miss Moulton," he replied, "the date of my departure is 
at hand, and need I say that I would gladly tarry longer did I not 
wish to visit the scenes of my early childhood and more than all else 
the spot where stood the old fort in which my mother sought refuge 
only to meet death, and from which I was carried away to Old 
Point by the Indians when hardly more than a babe in arms. 

"I am indeed loth to leave this place, these friends, and, may I 
add, deeply grieved most of all to leave you. 

"I shall not trouble you long, bat I must talk with you. It has 
been clear and comprehensible to yourself and to me for a long time, 
yes, ever since the first eve we met. It is always best not to close 
the eyes and seal the lips when people love each other. You have 
heard my story and you love me, I feel, I can see, I know in spite of 
everything. ' ' 

Her eyes were raised to his for an instant. "Thank you for 
those words," she said. 

He would have taken her in his arms but she repelled him in gen- 
tle firmness. 

"No, stay there, we will talk it over calmly," she said. "I am 
no heroine and this discussion is very hard for me. But tell me, have 
you spoken to my father?" 

He assured her on his honor that no word of his had passed his 
lips which could have betrayed the state of his feelings. 

"He is all to me that a father could be and I am the object of his 
deepest devotion," and here she paused. "It pains me to say it. 
But I could not shatter his confidence in me, even though it cost me 
my future happiness. There are still and were noble men among 
our Indian brothers, but, knowing my father's dislike of the redskins, 
and his promise to my angel mother, I do not know how he will re- 
ceive you, even though you are the best of friends." 

They stood facing each other in sorrowful silence. 

He seemed to feel that any word, any assurance of his good faith 
would be trivial, a desecration of the situation which she regarded so 
nobly and purely. 

"I feel much better now," she said, with an indescribably brave 
and beautiful smile. "Do not think any more about it. Good coun- 
sel comes in the night. No one is responsible for his inclinations, but 



154 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer^ 

only for his deeds, and you, I know, will never do anything which 
could really divide us." 

She gave him her hand and was about to say good night when her 
father approached, and together she left them. 

"It has driven me out also," he said, as he walked beside Erick 
and, stopping for breath, glanced at the starlit spring heavens. 
"When I saw you slipping out, a melancholy envy, which you must 
pardon, come over me. We spent so many happy hours here together, 
reviewing the sad past and living so completely in the joy of the 
present. You, Erick, and Sylvia have brought new color into my 
life. The buoyant spirit of j'^outh has seemed contagious. Even this 
crippled leg of mine has grown young again." 

He put his arm in that of his young friend and they walked 
slowly down the garden path. 

"You are leaving us on the morrow," he continued. "We shall 
miss you. You will always seem a part of this dear old place where 
we met. Our friendship is not of the passing day and though we 
meet not again, in our hearts your memory will linger. I admire 
your courage and I can only wish you God-speed in your undertak- 
ing. You have but the sacred memory of a dear, departed mother, 
and I feel that you can believe .your foster-mother's story. I\Iay it 
please God to give you knowledge of a father, worthy of such a sou." 

He paused, seemed lost in reverie. Erick hesitated, then broke 
the painful stillness. 

"Captain ]\Ioulton," said he, "my time is brief. I was about to 
go in search of you. May I have a word in private?" 

They had turned and were approaching the house. He paused 
as though scenting a situation which might call up old memo- 
ries, then, he said, and his voice was saddened, "Go on!" 

"It is this : I love your daughter and my love dates from the 
moment when first we met. I can never again be my own master, 
even though I should be obliged to remain away from her forever. 
Until less than an hour ago, no word had passed my lips. By acci- 
dent we met in the garden. I could not longer endure the uncer- 
tainty as to her feelings and I told her." 

Erick paused, then pained by the awful stillness, he continued: 

"An unspeakable grief suddenly seized her almost as though a 
hot buried spring had burst from her inmost soul. In that instant 
she knew that she loved me, but noble woman that she is, she bade 
me go to you, her father." 

Like the commander of some fortress, who, recognizing the supe- 
riority of the besieger, needs no council of war, yet if time can be 
won, everything may be saved and the relief may come which would 
have been too late if there had been a premature surrender, so lie 
waited, and then sank upon the grass, one hand supporting his mas- 



Father Rasle and His Strong Box 155 

sive head. Erick awaited the words he miglit utter in strange sus- 
pense. 

At last he spoke, and his voice was measured and saddened. "The 
symptoms are, indeed, precisely the same as when I fell in love with 
my wife ! But the situation is ditJt'erent. Not that you are unworthy 
of my daughter's hand. Knowing you as I do, gladly would I give it 
in marriage, but the promise — the promise to the loved one who is 
sleeping. Can I break iti 'A barrier lays between us, invisible, yet 
not unfelt.' " 

Again his voice sounded, "But one curtain remains to be drawn 
aside. The finger of God, my poor boy, will guide you. Go search 
the wilderness for some person who has known your mother and per- 
haps from those lips her life's story will come as a heritage to you, 
her son. Secret were the hiding places of the Indians. Twentj^ 
years and more since you lived among them, unearthed, in the mean- 
time, may have been many of their treasures and secrets. This worn 
frame of mine is sadly equal to such a journey, but if light breaks for 
you, as prompt as to the response of a bugle call, Sylvia and I will 
hasten to join you and there on the spot where fell the priestly father, 
you shall receive the hand of my daughter." 

With a silent grasp of the withered hand the two men parted. 

"Is all of love— all of life denied to me?" sighed Erick. Then, 
without more delay, he turned and approached Sylvia who stood 
somewhat apart, near the arbor. Plainly evident was the sorrow that 
lurked in his bosom, yet with the manner that bespoke the man 
schooled to obedience, he said, ' ' I ask you nothing, Miss Moulton, but 
to wear this ring which was once my mother's, the story of which you 
have heard. I may not live. We may never meet again, but I do 
ask you to remember me. Nothing can make us enemies at heart." 

Slowly the dark beauty raised her beseeching eyes to his saddened 
face. 

"Do not think that I do not feel. You will always be in my 
heart," said she. "The God above us will guard and guide you." 

He kissed her trembling hand and felt within his own the little 
locket she had ofttimes worn, which later showed to him her beloved 
face and a lock of her silken, brown hair. 

Turning as if to depart, he heard the reluctant whisper, "I can- 
not lose you forever from my life, Erick. We shall meet again. 
Something v/ithin me whispers that my father will be called upon to 
fulfill his promise. We shall meet again!" 

And then he gasped under his breath, "My own poor darling — 
mine — to eternity! We will meet after these days of doubt are no 
more ! ' ' 




156 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

SCENE IV. 

In Sight of Old Point. 

Y JOURNEY has been uneventful," he muttered, as the 
hot sun of mid-summer beat down upon him, and he 
threw himself beneath the shade of a friendly tree on 
the banks of the Kennebec, looking up the river 
toward Old Point. "My search for some clue finds no 
reward. ' ' Then he took from his pocket the locket and 
gazed long and sadly at the likeness within. "Can I 
lose you forever? No, a thousand times no!" 

His head dropped between his hands and he seemed lost in 
thought. Suddenly he lifted his head and exclaimed in a voice that 
brought the echo from the near-by forest, "I have it, I have it! Let 
me see, yes, here it is in my pocket." And he drew forth the pack- 
age. "The same mark Captain Moulton suggested," he exclaimed, 
"a line, curved, just above the broken initial and once it might have 
been a part of it, E is now clear, but what of the last letter — h, well, 
that, too, shows a break by the pen and may have been made for a k — 
if so, it is my Christian name — Erick, but the S, in the surname, that 
alone is the lost link in my chain." Again he seemed lost in thought, 
while the package he held in his hand. "Can it be," he cried, tam- 
ing it over and he bent to pick up a piece of paper that had worked 
itself out through the half-opened end and, in turning, he saw the 
words un faded, clearly written. 

"Erick Lynde— 1711." 

"It is mine, mine own," he gasped. "The one link in the chain — 
Can I read it?" 

"Is all of love, all of life denied me? We shall see!" he ex- 
claimed. With mental fear and trembling, Erick read his dead 
mother's narrative. 

It was, after all, only a baffling disclosure, a series of half confi- 
dences, punctuated with more or less self -accusation, and evidently 
written at different times, with a reluctant pen and carefully copied 
from an original which had probably been destroyed. 

But one purpose ran through the whole narrative. The fixed de- 
termination to conceal names, dates, locality and all the surroundings 
from the son, who was now called upon to sit in judgment upon the 
proud woman who had given to him the breath of life. 

"Loving heart, self-tortured woman," he sighed. 

It was a strange story. A young, orphaned Colonial girl, in the 
flush of early womanhood ; a desirable heiress in her own right, at a 
watering place in southern Italy met her fate, in the person of one of 
the titled families in England. 

Marriage united a Catholic lawyer with a Protestant child of free- 
dom. 



Father Rasle and His Strong Box 157 

The unbroken happiness of the first year of the marriage, the 
lengthened honeymoon, the wonders of the new world followed. 

The veiled resentment of the groom's family exhibited to the 
bride, together with the impressive loneliness of a vast, unbroken 
country in which they had found a home, where the husband was sent 
as an agent of the English King ; all came as a blow to this girl-wife. 
The husband, leaning toward politics and public life, was recalled 
to accept a more fitting position in the country of his birth. 

Vainly his sorrowing wife implored him to defer the acceptance 
of the call to his country's service, until she might accompany him. 

At first he turned to her a willing ear. Then came the fierce 
vengeance of an unbridled nature, and the husband, whose fiery pas- 
sions were his only law, left her, to seek renown in other lands. 

The conviction that she, the object of his heart's devotion, now 
approaching maternit}^ was thus deserted, shattered forever the fond 
ideal of the northern wife. 

That the young wife would soon forget and at last forgive, that 
she could be won back by time and the birth of the expected heir, was 
the delusive hope which contented the sullen husband. 

The record of a year followed in which no line of hers reached his 
eyes, no trace of her could be found. 

The possession of independent means made the revolted wife im- 
pregnable in her self-concealment. 

Then came an account of an attack upon Kittery, and, through 
some mysterious course, she allowed the report to reach England of 
the untimely death of herself and infant son. 

Erick read the bitter lesson of the trusting wife. 

*'It is the grist of the Gods," he sadly murmured, "that this 
strong-willed English aristocrat should accept the seeming verdict 
of fate. 

"My mother has found that peace which passes all understanding, 
but my father, if he lives yet, is environed with all the dark horrors 
of war. My poor mother was only a victim of that false social sys- 
tem which makes one standard for the woman, another for the man. 
And my father is the wretched heir of the ingrained sins of his an- 
cestors, the mere puppet of the peculiar institutions." 

Erick had now reached a mental calmness and at the sound of the 
fallen journal, as he supposed, he reached for it and saw that it was 
only a letter that had found lodgment within the journal. He 
stooped to pick it up and read in unfaded words, his name "Erick 
Lynde," and yet another "Erick Lynde Goffe, from your sorrowing 
Mother." 

Before breaking the seal he carried the missive to his lips. Then 
solemnly pondered the final words of his dead mother's disclosure. 

"Years have taught me both charity and justice. I give to you 
no guiding counsel for your own future actions. That your father 



158 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

has been a man of mark, of high public station, of unsullied personal 
honor, since his departure from me, is known to me. I frankly admit 
my own moral desertion of the man to whom I had plighted my wed- 
ded faith. I see now the grievous wrong inflicted upon him. I 
should have gone to him as he desired when your tender months were 
equal to an ocean voyage. I have given to you all the life, half of 
which I owed to him, and only you can decide upon the rightful 
course to follow. Condemn him not, and if, perchance, believing in 
the report of my death at the hands of the Indians which I allowed 
to reach him, he has surrounded himself with wife and with chil- 
dren, for my sake, work no wrong to the innocent ones of his house- 
hold. For nearly two years I have not followed his fortunes save 
merely to know that he lives. In making these changes of residence, 
in my final retreat to Falmouth and the adoption of my disguise of 
the name of Lynde, I have absolutely prevented suspicion and dis- 
covery. Your father hopelessly accepted my subterfuge of the In- 
dian massacre, in good faith. He must not be held accountable for 
my wrong doing." 

"As God wills/' mused Erick, as he had exhausted the final words 
of loving tenderness with which "Louise Lynde-Goffe" had closed 
the recital of her blighted life. 

"Naught in my heart to condemn thee," he whispered. "He 
that is without sin let him cast the first stone. Thank God, there is 
now no barrier between Sylvia and myself. ' ' 

Erick was strangely agitated as the messenger rowed down the 
river bearing his brief message which read: "Come, I await you, 
here at the grave of Father Rasle, my past as an open book, shall be 
read bv .you and I doubt not your decision." Signed, "Erick 
Lynde-Goffe." 



SCENE V. 

At the Foot of the Cross. 

HE setting sun had followed the rising sun, and the ris- 
ing sun the setting sun for many long days ere the 
promise to ,ioin Erick in the north was fulfilled. 
It is early autumn. 

At last we find them at Old Point on the ground 
where fell those brave w^arriors, slowly wending their 
way toward the grave of the Jesuit. 
Captain Moulton walks but slowly, and the limp in his leg is more 
perceptible than of yore. "Your father has aged since I left your 
Aunt Anna's home, and saddened he seems, by the tales I have told 
of the English boy captive. The Avay has been long, too long, per- 
chance, for the aged, but I wanted you to see and to feel the same 




Father Rasle and His Strong Box 159 

spirit of love for this deserted, hallowed spot, that I felt as a child 
for this ground, then the famous Indian village." 

They were approaching a little enclosure, a grove of ash trees, 
and in the darkest corner of the shaded place stood an empty bench. 

"Captain IMoulton, " said Erick, "might not you like to rest here 
in the shade while your daughter goes on with me to the rude cross, 
you see yonder?" 

' ' Yes, tired is my leg and I will gladly rest till your return. ' ' So 
saying he dropped himself wearily down upon the bench and they 
left him. 

Onward they walked in silence, "too sacred seemed the spot for 
mere words." 

They had reached the foot of the cross and taking from his 
pocket a time-yellowed, faded paper, he said, "Sylvia, will you read 
my dead mother's journal?" 

She reached forth her hand but withdrew it. "Why, this is the 
package so long kept from eyes in the 'strong box!' " she exclaimed. 

"Yes," he replied, and his voice sank to a whisper, "your father 
had in his possession the lost link that connected my past with my 
present. ' ' 

Again she extended her hand for the letter, then carried it to her 
lips, and between them fell a silence, unbroken. Ericlc remained 
seated for a while with his eyes closed, in that stupefied state between 
pain and pleasure which usually comes to one who has done his duty 
at the cost of a deep heart's need. 

Suddenly Sylvia looked up and her eyes, as they met his, were full 
of gratitude, but streaming with tears. 

"The more I give to thee, Erick, the more I have, for both are 
infinite." 

Then rising and with hands outstretched to him, she said ; ' ' Come, 

let us go to my father." 

* * * 

In the year 1833, Benedict Fenwick, bishop of Boston, repaired 
to the site of the little chapel of Rasle, in Norridgewock, and on the 
anniversary of its destruction, August 23, erected a monument to the 
memory of the self-denying missionary. 

The writer of this article, while enjoying the beauties of nature 
on a trip through the Kennebec valley, visited this historic spot and 
was much interested in the monument as it stands to-day. 

A large block of granite, surmounted by an iron cross, gives an 
imposing height of eighteen feet, measuring from tlie foundation to 
the highest point of the cross. 

A Latin inscription, of which the following is a literal transla- 
tion, is cut in the stone ; a copy of which was kindly offered to the 
writer, by an aged priest, who was there that day studying the monu- 
ment which occupies tlie spot where the altar stood before the church 
was burned, and beneath which rest the remains of Father Rasle. 



160 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

"Rev. Sebastian Rasle, a native of France, a missionary of the 
society of Jesuits, at first preaching for a few years to the Illinois 
and Hurons, afterwards for thirty-four years to the Abenaquis, in 
faith and charity ; undaunted by the danger of arms, often testifying 
that he was prepared to die for his flock ; at length this best of pas- 
tors fell amidst arms at the destruction of the village of Norridge- 
wock and the ruins of his own church, in this very place, on the 
twenty-third day of August, A. D. 1724. Benedict Fenwick, Bishop 
of Boston, has erected this monument, and dedicated it to him and 
his deceased children in Christ, on the 23d of Augl^st, A. D. 1833, to 
the greater glory of God. ' ' 

Author's Note. — The writer of this article desires to state that this nar- 
rative for the most part presents facts in the setting of fiction. While the 
methods of fiction have been employed, they have not departed from the his- 
torical spirit. Captain Moulton and Erick Lynde have been made story tellers, 
but their stories are substantially true. The incident of "Father Rasle's 
strong box" with the one exception of the "Journal," is true. The decision of 
Father Rasle against whatever odds to struggle on for the cause of human 
justice and a closer following of Christ, is one of the noblest examples of 
moral heroism. 



AN ISLE OF THE SEA 




An Isle of the Sea 

By ORRIE L. QUIMBY 

^'Something hidden — Go and find it! 
Lost and waiting for you — Go!" 

RISCILLA," called Mistress Winter, in a harsh, rau- 
cous voice, like the cry of a sea-gull, "Priscilla, I say, 
already it is an hour since sun-up by the glass (hour 
glass) and you not yet come out of your bed!" 

Then, as no answer came from above, "The lazy 
wench ! Now must I climb the stairs to waken her, or 
light the fire myself!" and she started up the steep, 
narrow stairway that led to the chambers, with a look on her face 
that boded ill for poor Priscilla. 

John Winter, sitting below in the long kitchen, heard her shrill 
voice berating the maid, then the sound of blows, and Mistress Win- 
ter came clattering down the stairway, her black eyes flashing and 
her sharp face flushed with rage. 

"The slattern! the fat, lazy slattern!" she stormed, "What 
think you, John Winter, she goes into my good feather bed with 
clean linen sheets upon it, without taking pains to pluck off her 
clothes! For a year and a quarter she hath lain with Sally upon 
my good feather bed, and now, Sally being lacke (away) three or 
four days to Saco, the trollope goes into bed in her clothes and 
stockings! Hereafter her bed shall be doust (dust) bed and sheets 
she shall have none ! ' ' 

"Truly, the maid is not of much service in this business," re- 
turned her husband, "but if she be beaten, she may be sending home 
ill reports, the which, if it come to the ears of Mr, Trelawney, would 
make much trouble for us." 

"Then must I forbear my hands to strike and rise rathe (early) in 
the morning to do all the work myself, or it will lie undone. And 
all the beating she hath had, hath never hurt her body nor her 
limbs." And she bustled about, piling sticks of firewood on the 
broad hearth. 

"If this maid at her lazy times, when she hath been found in her 
ill actions, doth not deserve two or three blows, who, I pray, hath 
most reason to complain, she or I ? If a fair way will not do it, then 
beatings must sometimes upon such idle girrels as she is." 

Meanwhile she was hanging the kettle in the fireplace for the 
men's breakfast porridge, which she made of milk "boyled with 
flower," preparing great kettles of peas and pork, heaping bread on 



164 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

large wooden platters, drawing huge tankards of beer and ale, and 
all this without ceasing to enumerate Priscilla's shortcomings. 

"She cannot be trusted even to serve a few pigs but I must com- 
monly be with her, or they v/ill go without their meat. Since she 
came hither she could never milk cow nor goat, and every night she 
will be out-of-doors roaming about the island, after we are gone to 
bed, except I carry the key of the door to bed with me, and that I 
shall do henceforth, doubt not." 

John Winter, "a grave and discreet man," tried in vain to stem 
the torrent of her wrath, till, as she paused for breath, he broke in 
with, "Softly, softly, now Jane, for our minister, Mr. Gibson, is just 
without, in the palisatho (palisade) and it is not fitting that he should 
find you in so great a passion, lest he may judge, 'Like mother like 
child.' I have lately thought that he takes more than a passing in- 
terest in our daughter Sarah, and it is the desire of my heart that 
this might come to pass, as you well know." 

There was no time for further talk before the entrance of the 
Rev. Richard Gibson, A.B., scholar and gentleman, lately of Magda- 
len College, Cambridge, England, and the first settled minister with- 
in the limits of old Falmouth. 

Of him John Winter writes to his employer, "The WorshipfuU 
Robert Trelawney:" "Our minister is a very fair Condition man, 
one that doth keep himself in very good order, and instructs our 
people well, if it please God to give us the grace to follow his in- 
struction. ' ' 

He had been sent to minister to the plantation at Richmond's 
Island in 1636 by Robert Trelawney in response to this appeal from 
his brother, Edward Trelawney, who was temporarily in charge at 
the island: "But above all I earnestly request you for a Relligious, 
able Minister, for its moste pittifull to behold what a Most Heathen 
life wee live." 

Richard Gibson was an idealist by nature, and it is easy to un- 
derstand the enthusiasm with which he entered upon his work in the 
New World. And that he had won a place in the affections of his 
people was evident from the pleading look Priscilla Bickford cast 
toward him, as, plump and comely in spite of red and swollen eye- 
lids, she came down the stairs and began to help in laying the 
breakfast table. 

"Go you and serve the swine on the main land and carry these 
buckets of corn to the sows who have litters of young," ordered her 
mistress in a voice still sharp, despite her efforts at amiability. 

"It will be time enough to think of victuals when you have done 
some work, for idle girrels, who will not work, shall not eat." 

As Priscilla, going to pick up the buckets, passed the young min- 
ister, he slipped two of the oaten cakes from the trencher on the 
table into her apron pocket, with a look of sympathy. 



An Isle of the Sea 165 

"My patience is worren out with the girl," said Mistress Winter, 
as Priseilla went out. "Such a slattern that the men do not desire 
even to have her boil the kettle for them." 

Richard Gibson, probably made wise by previous encounters, 
made no attempt to intercede, but only remarked: "In this country 
we must of necessity work with such tools as God hath given us, as 
3'our husband can witness out of his own experience." 

"I have a company as of troublesome people as ever man had to 
do withall, both for land and for sea, and I have had no assistance 
heretofore from any that is here with me," said John Winter. "I 
have written to Mr. Trelawney that he may please make choice of 
honester and more pliable men, or else the plantation will all go to 
ruin, for here about these parts is neither law nor government. If 
any man's servants take a distaste against his master, away they go 
to their pleasure." 

"But notwithstanding all these diificulties you have wrought with 
some success," suggested Mr. Gibson. 

"Of a truth our building and planting have proved fairly well, 
with this strong palisatho of fifteen feet high and our ordnance 
mounted within on platform for our defense from those who wish us 
harm here. And we have paled in four or five acres for our garden 
also, planting divers sorts, as barley, peas, corn, pumpkins, carrots, 
parsnips, onions, garlic, radishes, turnips, cabbage, lettuce, parsley 
and millions (melons) and there is nothing we set or sow, but doth 
prove very well." 

"And the fisheries do surely prosper in large measure?" 

"I have sent great store of fish and train oil by the Agnes, also 
eight and one-half hogsheads of fish peas. As for our goats, I 
could willingly sell a score, for they overlay the island and on the 
main land the wolves do prey upon them. There be divers in these 
parts would have goats, but they lack money. The pigs increase 
apace, and grow fat on acorns and glames (clams) on the main land, 
though we have sustained the loss of many by the Indians, wolves, 
the harsh winter, and the idleness of them that had charge to look 
to them three times a week." 

Then as the men trooped in to breakfast, the talk became general 
and turned upon the new ship, a bark of thirty tons, now almost com- 
pleted and ready for launching on the morrow. They spoke of what 
work remained to be done upon her, for as yet no masts or yards had 
been made for her, nor her deck calked. 

"She will be a stout, conditionable ship, I hope, for she has good 
stuff in her," said Arthur Gill, the shipwright, who had come from 
Dorchester to oversee the building of the ship. "She hath as good 
oak timber in her sides as ever grew in England." 

"I shall lack a master to go in her, since Narias Haukins and his 
company are gone from here," responded John Winter. "I doubt 



166 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

she will lie still awhile for want of a master. He will need be a 
good plyer (navigator) for this coast." 

"With what cargo will she be laden and for what port?" asked 
Mr. Gibson. 

"The cargo may be wine and oil and mayhap some of our goods, 
such as hardware and the like. The best market will be in the Bay 
or the Dutch plantation or Keynetticoat, for in this part of the 
country they be good buyers but poor payers. Later on there will 
be voyages to Spain and the Canaries." 

As the men finished their meal and went out to begin the day's 
work, Richard Gibson lingered a little. 

"Will not Miss Sarah be returning soon?" he inquired, wishing 
to put Mistress Winter into good humor. "It were a pity she 
should miss the launching, for that should be a goodly sight. ' ' 

A look of satisfaction, quite unalloyed, overspread Mistress Win- 
ter's face at this mark of interest, for Sarah was the apple of her eye. 

"Sarah should be here before sundown to-day, Heaven be 
praised, and she brings with her a visitor from Winter Harbor, one 
Mary Lewis, lately come from England, whose father, Thomas Lewis, 
is a person of consequence in the settlement." 

Richard Gibson, though outwardly courteous, received the news 
with indifference, for his thoughts and aims were not concerned with 
maidens, nor did he seek prestige from acquaintance with influential 
persons. On the sensitive organization of the scholar, Mistress Win- 
ter had the effect of a wind from the east, and seizing his books he 
fled to a cranny in the rocks, where the only shadow was that thrown 
on the open pages of his cherished books by the wings of a sea-gull 
on its overhead flight. During the year he had spent at Richmond 
Island^ his love for the sea had grown and strengthened, and many 
blissful hours he had passed beside the swirling waters, the tang of 
the rockweed in his nostrils and the sand-pipers running along by 
the edge of the water for company. 

This was the cathedral wherein he worshiped and the crash and 
boom of the breakers on rocks and reef was to him like the music of 
mighty organ tones. 

^Richmond Island lies off the coast of Cape Elizabeth a?id is connected 
with the main land by a sand bar, one-half mile in length, which is fordable 
at low tide. It comprises about two hundred acres, is three miles in circum- 
ference, and at the time of these happenings, was held bv "Robert Trelawney 
and others" under the Trelawney patent, granted by the President and Council 
of New England, December 7th, 1631. His object, according to Edward Tre- 
lawney, his brother, was the "true setting and furthering of a Plantation to 
future posterity." The business carried on was that of fisheries and trading, 
ship-building, planting and raising of cattle, goats and swine. It was con-, 
ducted by John Winter, agent, whom Josselyn describes as a "grave and dis- 
creet man, imployer of 60 men upon that design (fishing)." — Trelawney 
Papers. — James Phinney Baxter, A.M. 



An Isle of the Sea 167 

But this was his last day of peace, for into this sequestered life 
came dainty Mary Lewis on her dancing feet, and the priest, saint 
and dreamer were merged in the man and the lover. 

The two girls arrived late in the afternoon, buxom, red-cheeked 
Sarah Winter, large-limbed and capable, fitted to be the mother of 
hardy pioneers, and Mary Lewis, slender and bewitching, like a blush 
rose, in her flowered gown, her eyes shining with the expectation of 
new worlds to conquer. 

There was not much time to make acquaintance that day, for at 
the time they arrived, the whole plantation was astir with a hue and 
cry, because the serving-maid, Priscilla, had not returned from the 
main land, whither she had been sent in the morning. 

"She hath gone a mechinge^ in the woods, I'll warrant you, as 
she did once before, the good-for-nothing hussy, and it would be a 
good riddance if the wolves or the Indians should make an end of 
her, say I!" was Madam Winter's pronouncement. 

But John Winter had no intention of leaving poor Priscilla to so 
hard a fate, and the whole company turned out to seek the truant. 
She was found after a long search but was stubbornly determined to 
spend the rest of her life in the woods and live on nuts and berries 
like the swine, rather than return to her hard-handed task-mistress. 

John Winter tried all his authority, but Richard Gibson finally 
turned the scale by reminding her that her mother in England needed 
the share of her wages which she was used to send and so induced 
her to return. 

Mistress Winter, by this time genuinely alarmed, greeted her al- 
most kindly and peace once more reigned over the household. 

* * * 

The new bark was launched on the following day, the tenth of 
June, 1637. 

In the early morning a thick mist covered the island and hung 
like a gray curtain between it and the mainland. But before break- 
fast was over it began to lift, breaking away, then shutting down 
again in fickle mood, till the sun came through the rifts, changing 
its dull grey to violet, and from violet to amethyst ; familiar objects 
vaguely seen took on weird aspects, "suffered a sea-change," and 
the place seemed like an enchanted island. 

And without doubt, enchantment was there at work, for Mary 
Lewis fluttered about like one of the morning sunbeams. She ex- 
claimed over the household arrangements, the big chimney place, of 
which John Winter says, ' ' The chimney is large with an oven in each 
end of him, and he is so large that we can place our Chittle (kettle) 
within the Clavell pece (mantlepiece)." 

2"To miche, or secretly hide himself out of the way, as truants do from 
school." — Minshew. — Trclazvncy Papers. 



168 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

She admired the mill for grinding corn and malt, and quite won 
John Winter's heart by her interest in his garden and fisheries. 

"And the culverins within the palisatho, Mr. Winter, they are 
for defence against the Indians, uncloubtedly ? " she inquired. 

"They are for vise against any who would do us harm but more 
especially were they set up against the pirate Dixy Bull, who took 
away from the plantation at Pemequid as much goods and provis- 
ions as is valued at five hundred pounds ; and this Bull, if wind and 
weather would have given him leave, had an intent to come here to 
Richmond's Island, and to have taken away both provision and men, 
as they say." 

"Pirates! Mercy on us! But they might come back, who 
knows ? Will you take care of me if the pirates do come again, Mr. 
Winter?" And the little witch, though she slipped her hand in John 
Winter's arm, glanced at the young minister, and as their eyes met, 
Richard Gibson felt that he could valiantly battle with all the pirates 
in the seven seas for another such look. 

At the hour fixed for the launching they all set forth in brave 
attire, John Winter in a suit of good kersey, "of a sad (dark) color," 
with long-lapelled waistcoat of brilliant scarlet, his small clothes 
fastened at the knee with silver buckles, over his "good Irish stock- 
ings" and wearing a steeple-crowned hat with broad brim; while 
Madam Winter and Sarah were gay in their scarlet petticoats and 
lace trimmed coats and waistcoats. 

Mary Lewis came tripping along on her high-heeled, London- 
made shoes, and lost no opportunity of showing the prettiest little 
foot in the world (Sarah wore number sevens). 

She needed a deal of help over the rocks and rough places, which 
was willingly given by the young minister, who was clad in gown and 
cassock, as became the dignity of his office. 

On the shore Arthur Gill had everything in readiness. As the 
masts were not yet set, the flags were fastened in place, the Royal 
Standard with its golden lions in the prow and the Union Jack flying 
from the stern. The cradle and launching ways were well greased 
and the shores so placed that a few blows would dislodge them. 

All being assembled the minister first invoked the blessings of God 
upon the bark, asking divine favour that she might safely ride the 
waves and weather the storms, that all her voj'ages might be pros- 
perous and that "in all our works begun, continued and ended in 
Thee, we may glorify thy holy Name. ' ' 

As he ended, Sarah Winter, by her father's bidding, took her 
place by the prow, and as the master-builder knocked the shores from 
under the bark, she struck a small bottle of wine smartly against the 
stem of the vessel, saying in a clear voice, ' ' I christen thee the Rich- 
mond. ' ' 




w 



o 



K 




i 



An Isle of the Sea 169 

The bark glided smoothly down the ways, and, as she entered the 
water, a great wave washed np on the shore, causing a lively com- 
motion among those who had been standing too near the water. 

Mistress Winter had proudly turned to see what effect Sarah's 
part in the ceremony had produced upon Richard Gibson, when she 
saw him snatch Mary Lewis from before the incoming wave and 
carry her bodily to higher ground, while Sarah waded to dry land 
alone and unaided. 

"The pert little baggage!" she said to her husband. "I told you 
no good would come of it, but bound you were that she should come 
hither and the minister is fair bewitched with her already." And 
so it proved. 

Mary Lewis' visit was not an extended one, for a coolness on the 
part of her hosts made it none too pleasant, but for the short time 
she stayed, Richard Gibson was her devoted attendant and her whims 
were many. 

She must pretend she was an Indian squaw and try to dig clams 
upon the flats; she must go out in the fishing boats and see them 
draw in the nets ; she must try fishing with hook and line and some 
one must put the bait on her hook and praise her skill when, with 
ecstatic squeals, she actually drew in a mackerel from the midst of 
a whole school of them. 

And she told him what she had learned at Winter Harbor, how 
the Indians, taught by the Jesuit, Father Rasle, made the most 
beautiful waxen tapers from the berries of the bayberry, which she 
called wild laurel. Later on, she said, they would gather the berries, 
and at IMichaeimas, his little church should be a blaze of light and 
sweet with the odor of the candles. 

She attended the church service on Sunday and heard him offer 
prayer, "that the inhabitants of our island may in peace and quiet- 
ness serve Thee, our God." And he read the 107th Psalm, of "them 
that go down to the sea in ships and occupy their business in great 
waters." "He hath gathered them out of the lands from the east 
and from the west ; from the north and from the south. He led them 
forth by the right way. Then they are glad because they be quiet, 
and so he bringeth them to their desired haven." 

And a sweet, new seriousness took possession of the girl, and still 
lingered in her face as they sat on the rocks at sunset, watching the 
crimson and gold brighten the western sky and then fade into mauve 
and gray, as the sun went down behind the dark firs and hemlocks. 

Encouraged by her changed demeanor, Richard Gibson told her 
of the high hopes and aims with which he had come to this new land ; 
he grew enthusiastic over his work among the fishermen and spoke of 
his desire for a wider field of service. 

"Come then to the settlement at Winter Harbor," said Mary 
with an imperious air, "My father hath said that we have great need 
of a preacher there." 



170 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

' ' I greatly desire the continuance of my service here at the island 
and the people of the settlement might not favor it, that I should 
minister among them." 

"My father doth own the plantation jointly with Captain Rich- 
ard Bonython, and moreover he will pay much money' that we may 
have public worship, as is fitting. The people of the settlement will 
do what my father shall advise. And, ' ' with a little trill of laughter, 
"my father will do as I ask him," and all the mischief came back 
to her winsome face. 

Then springing to her feet, "The sun is gone," she cried, "we 
must hasten our ways, or Goody Winter's face will sour all the 
cream in the pans and the men will complain more bitterly than ever 
that she hath pincht them on the milk." 

As they hurried toward the house in the gathering dusk, "Why 
is that man digging in the ground over there by the heap of black- 
ened timbers?" Mary asked, drawing a little closer to the minister. 
And looking where she bade him, Richard Gibson fancied he saw a 
gray, stooping figure among the ruins, but on nearer approach, there 
was no one to be seen. 

"Mayhap some one of our people hath been searching for Great 
Walt's buried treasure," he answered lightly. 

"Great Walt? and buried treasure?" said the girl, clinging to 
his arm and looking over her shoulder with a little shiver. "I am 
fain to hear that tale. ' ' 

So he told her the tragic story of Walter Bagnall, "sometime 3 
servant to one in the Bay," who settled on the island as a trader in 
1628, "a wicked fellow% who had greatly wronged the Indians," 
according to Governor Winthrop; told how he was slain by the Sag- 
amore Squidraset and his company, who stealthily crossed from the 
main land in the darkness of night, and how they had taken his guns, 
and such goods as pleased them, then, having set fire to the house, 
had slunk back across the bar with their plunder by the light of the 
flames ; told also how an expedition from the Bay sent to punish 
the murderers, seized Black Will, an innocent victim, who was en- 
joying a clam bake at the island, and on the principle of "an eye for 
an eye" (and no matter whose eye) hung him for a crime of which 
he knew nothing. 

"And the buried treasure, what of that?" asked Mary. 

" 'Tis said he had a great store of gold and silver* and there 

^Thomas Lewis was taxed three pounds for the support of public worship. 
— Sullivan's History of Maine p. 218. Folsoin's Fristory of Biddeford and 
Saco. 

*A stone pot of beautiful globular form was ploughed up at Riichmond 
Island, May 11, 1855. It contained gold and silver coins to the value of one 
hundred dollars and a signet ring engraved with two joined hearts, the words 
"United" and "Death only partes." 



An Isle of the Sea 171 

hath been talk of a ring — a signet left in pledge by one in great 
necessity. Whatever became of them no one knoweth." 

"Tomorrow we will go to search and if, mayhap, I find the ring, 
then finding is having, but if you should chance to find it, then you 
shall give it to me!" announced the girl jestingly. 

"A bargain! in truth, for it was a wedding ring and there were 
graven in the ring two hearts, 'United,' and 'Death only partes.' 
Wouldst thou wear such a ring for me, sweetheart?" and there was 
no hint of jesting in the man's deep voice. 

"Sweetheart, indeed!" with wide-eyed innocence and drawing 
back from his arm. "And you as good as promised to Sarah Win- 
ter!" 

"I do protest there is nothing of the sort between us nor hath 
ever been. Though I have sometimes feared that her father's desires 
might incline that way," he admitted, wishing to be quite honest in 
the matter. 

"They do so no longer, then," said an angry voice within the 
palisade, for they stood talking just without. 

"Sarah shall have a man worth ten such white-faced weaklings 
as you, and I would say it if you were the Bishop of London, him- 
self! And as for that trollope, she goes home to her father to-mor- 
row and good riddance to bad rubbish ! 'Tis a pity you know not 
the tales they tell of her carryings-on on ship-board — those who 
came from England with her!" and with this parting shot Dame 
Winter flounced into the house. 

' ' Take no heed of her ill talk, Mary, but tell me, would you wear 
my ring?" pleaded Richard Gibson, and it was a very demure little 
maiden who answered him. 

"For that you must speak with my father, when you come to 
Winter Harbor." And he, remembering what she had so lately said, 
"My father will do as I ask him," took heart of grace, and fol- 
lowed her into the house. 

On the following day Mary Lewis returned to Winter Harbor, 
and it was not many days before Richard Gibson made his appear- 
ance there. 

She must have led him a merry chase, but in the summer of 1638, 
John Winter wrote to his patron, Robert Trelawney, concerning Mr. 
Gibson, saying: "He is now, as I heare say, to have a wife and will 
be married very shortly unto one of Mr. Lewis' daughters of Saco. " 

About the same time Richard Gibson, writing to Trelawney re- 
garding an allotment of land to "Sitt down upon," says: 

"But the truth is, I have promised myself to them at Saco six 
months yearely henceforth, and further than that six months I can- 
not serve you after my time is out. Your people here were willing 
to have allowed me twenty-five Pounds yearly out of their wages so 
I would continue amongst them wholly. And I was glad of the 



172 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

means and thought that I had done God and you good service in 
bringing them to that minde, where tliey might have been brought 
further on. But Mr. Winter opposed it, because hee was not so 
sought unto (consulted) as he expected." 

He goes on, ''It is not in my power what other men thinke or 
speak of me, yett it is in my pow^r by God's grace so to live as an 
honest man and a minister, and so as no man shall speak evil of me 
but by slandering, nor think amisse but by too much credulity, nor 
yet aggrieved me much by any abuse." 

Evidently Mr. Gibson was having troubles of his own, but he met 
them like a man, saying "It shall never do me hurt more than this 
to make me looke more narrowly to my wayes." 

Mary Lewis and Richard Gibson were wed, in spite of gossips 
and mischief-makers, shortly after this time, for in January, 1639, 
he writes to Governor Winthrop: "By the providence of God and the 
council of friends I have lately married Mary, daughter of Mr. 
Thomas Lewis of Saco, as a fitt means for closing of differences. 
Howbeit, so it is at present, that some troublous spirits out of mis- 
apprehension, others as it is supposed for hire, have cast an 
aspersion upon her. "^ 

He asks the Governor to call before him certain persons in Bos- 
ton, who came over in the same ship with her, as to the truth of these 
accusations, adding, "If these imputations be justly charged upon 
her I shall reverence God's afflicting hand and possess myself in 
patience under God's chastening." 

In the following summer, July 10, 1639, John Winter writes to 
Mr. Trelawney: "Mr. Gibson is going from us; he is to go to Pas- 
cattawa to be their mynister and they give him sixty Pounds per 
yeare and build him a house and cleare some ground, and prepare 
yt for him against he come." 

Mr. Winter has no word of regret or explanation, but Stephen 
Sargeant, ship-wright and a man of importance on the plantation, 
writes to Trelawney: "Mr. Gibson hee is going to Piscataway to live, 
the which v/ee are all sorry, and should be glade of that wee might 
injoy his company longer." 

Richard Gibson himself writes to his patron upon money matters, 
for apparently having a wife to support is expensive business. He 
wishes to have five Pounds which has been promised him, and also 
twenty shillings which is due him from Mr. Chappell's men, but 
which Mr. Winter withholds and will not allow him, and he con- 

"^In 1640 Gibson brought action in Georges' Court against John Bonighton 
for slander in saying of him, in dwelHng house of Thomas Lewis, deceased, 
that he was a "base priest, a base knave, a base fellow," and also for gross 
slander against his wife, and received a verdict for six Pounds, six shillings, 
eight pence and cost twelve shillings, six pence for the use of the Court. — York 
Records. 




■j^rf^-ifyH'f^i-m<i 



^^If^ :\ 








Pot with Money and Rings Found at Richmond Island in 1855 



An Isle of the Sea 173 

tinues: "For the continuance of my service att the Island, it is that 
which I have much desired and upon your Consent thereunto, I have 
settled myself into the Country and expended my estate in depend- 
ence thereupon: and now I see Mr. Winter doth not desire it, nor 
hath not ever desired it, but since the arrivall of the Hercules he hath 
entertayned mee very Coursely and with much Discurtesy, so that I 
am forced to remove to Paschataway for maintenance, to my great 
hinderance, which I hope you will consider of. To be unburthened 
of the charge my diett and wages putts him to, will not (When the 
summe of all is Cast up) amount unto so much case as he imagineth, 
but it is a Case which you know not nor can remedy." 

In 1642 he was preaching to the fishermen at the Isle of Shoals. 

He was prosecuted by the Massachusetts Government for 
administering the ordinances of the Church of England, but was re- 
leased without either fine or imprisonment, "he being about to leave 
the countr}^" as Governor Winthrop said, feeling it incumbent upon 
him to apologize for his laxity in this case. 

# # « 

So Richard Gibson and Mary, his wife, sailed away from the 
shores to which they had come with such high hopes and whatever he 
may have lacked or left undone, we know that, like the Master he 
served, "the common people heard him gladly." 

His successor at the Island was a man of different fibre. 

Robert Jordan of Baliol College, Oxford University, son of Ed- 
ward Jordan of the city of Worcester, of plebeian rank, was first 
and foremost a man of force and indomitable spirit. While Richard 
Gibson sought a kingdom not of this world, this man who came after 
him, wished for something substantial in this life and instinctively 
grasped the potential advantages of every situation; whatever came 
between him and the object he sought to attain was swept from his 
path, but the power he gained was used for worthy ends. He was a 
man of influence in the town of Falmouth for six and thirty years, 
and his descendants are like the sands of the sea shore, which cannot 
be numbered. 

John Winter writes to Trelawney, "Heare is one Mr. Robert 
Jordan, a mynister which hath been with us this three moneths, which 
is a very honest religious man by any thing as yett I can find in him. 
I have not yett agred with him for staying heare but did refer yt tyll 
I did heare some word from you. We weare long without a mynister 
and weare but in a bad way, and so we shall be still yf we have not 
the word of God taught unto us som tymes. He hath been heare in 
this country this two years and hath alwaies lived with Mr. Purchase, 
which is a kinsman unto him." 

He became John Winter's right hand man and, quick to seize the 
opportunity which Richard Gibson had not appreciated, he paid 



174 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

court to Sarah Winter and they were married some time during the 
winter of 1644. 

John Winter, writing to his daughter, Mary Hooper in England, 
speaks of six pounds in money which "your Sister Sara desires you 
would bestow in linen cloth for her of these sortes : some cloth of 
three quarters and a half quarter broad & some of it for Neck Cloths, 
and some for pillow Clothes, for she is now providing to Keepe a 
house. She hath been married this five months to one Mr. Robert 
Jordan, which is our minister." 

From this time on Robert Jordan took an active part in the affairs 
of the plantation and the town and eventually succeeded to the whole 
of the Trelawney estates in the Province. For Robert Trelawney, 
persecuted by political enemies during the long contest between 
Charles I. and Parliament, "a prisoner, according to the sadness of 
the times," as he says in a codicil to his will, and being deprived of 
"even ordinary relief and refreshment," died in prison at Winches- 
ter House, probably in 1644, at the early age of forty-five years. 

John Winter's death occurred during the same year, he naming 
Robert Jordan as his executor. 

The affairs of the plantation were found to be much involved, 
and three years later Robert Jordan petitioned the General Assembly 
of Ligonia, representing that he had "emptied himself of his proper 
estate" in paying Winter's legacies, and that the "mostness" of 
Winter's estate was in the hands of the executors of Robert Tre- 
lawney. 

He asks that "he may have secured and sequestered unto himself 
and for his singular use what he hath of the said Trelawney in his 
hands." 

Jordan's claim against the estate amounted to more than twenty- 
three hundred pounds while the whole plantation was appraised at 
only six hundred pounds. 

Four years after Winter's death the General Assembly of 
Ligonia gave Jordan all of the Trelawney property, real and per- 
sonal, in the Province. 

He shortly after removed to the Cleeves house at Spurwink and 
dwelt there for more than thirty years, administering his affairs and 
maintaining his stand as a churchman, while Sarah, his efficient wife, 
sewed his white linen neck cloths and looked after the comfort of the 
household. 

He was forbidden by the Puritan government of Massachusetts 
to baptize or marry, but paid no attention to the order and was 
twice arrested and imprisoned b}^ order of the General Court of 
Massachusetts. 

Posterity is especially indebted to him for the stand he took in 
the matter of witchcraft. That ®" there was never a prosecution for 

<*(Gov. Sullivan, Hist, of the Dist. of Maine P. 212.) 



An Isle of the Sea 175 

witchcraft to the eastward of the Piscataqua River, is probably due 
to the cool head and clear commonsense of the Rev. Robert Jordan. ' ' 

Parson Hale of Beverly, in a book entitled "A Modest Enquiry 
into the nature of Witch craft," A. D. 1697, writes as follows: 

''We must be very circumspect lest we be deceived by human 
knavery as happened in a case nigh Richmond's Island Anno 1659. 
One Thorpe, a drunken preacher, was gotten in to preach at Black 
Point under the appearance and profession of a minister of the gos- 
pel, and boarded at the house of Goodman Bailey, and Bailey's wife 
observed his conversation to be contrary to his calling, gravely told 
him his way was contrary to the Gospel of Christ and desired him to 
reform his life, or leave her house. So he departed from her house, 
and turned her enemy and found an opportunity to do her an in- 
jury. 

"It so fell out that Mr. Jordan of Spurwink had a cow die and 
about that time Goody Bailey had said she intended such a day to 
travel to Casco Bay. Mr. Thorpe goes to Mr. Jordan's man or men 
and saith the cow was bewitched to death, and if they would lay the 
carcass in a place he should appoint, he would burn it and bring the 
witch : and accordingly the cow was laid by the path that led from 
Black Point to Casco, and set on fire that day Goody Bailey was to 
travel that way, and so she came by while the carcass was burning, 
and Thorpe had her questioned for a witch : but Mr. Jordan inter- 
posed in her behalf and said his cow died by his servants' negli- 
gence, and to cover their own fault they were willing to have it im- 
puted to witchcraft. Mr. Thorpe knew of Goody Bailey's intended 
journey and orders my servants (said he) without my approbation 
to burn my cow in the way where Bailey is to come: and so unrid- 
dled the knavery and delivered the innocent." 

Robert Jordan fled from Spurwink at the time of the Indian at- 
tack upon the settlement at Casco and lived at Great Island, now 
Newcastle, at the mouth of the Piscataqua until his death in 1679. 

During the Indian wars Richmond Island was left uninhabited, 
the buildings fell into decay, until to-day it lies desolate and for- 
saken, save for one lone house occupied by a caretaker, and a fisher- 
man's shack on the further beach. 

As it lies there, somewhat grim and forbidding, while the waves 
splash upon its rocky shores and the sea-birds call and cry around it, 
it has the appearance of having withdrawn itself to brood upon days 
when it was trodden by many busy feet, and when abundant har- 
vests waved above it, almost three hundred years ago. 

« # « 

Our daily bread is sweeter, the fruits of the earth more plenteous, 
and its flowers more fragrant and fair, because of those who lived and 
labored centuries ago. 



176 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Phantom-like we see them move, trailing dim garments along the 
horizon of the world. From the mists of the sea, they beckon with 
the lure of mj^stery ; through the years that intervene, we seek their 
half -obliterated foot-prints, while the surges of the sea still bemoan 
their woes, and all the winds of heaven whisper fragments of their 

secrets. 

* ■* « 

Author's Note: I am indebted for material chiefly to the Trelawney 
lers, by Jam "' ' "" ' "' '' "-••• ^ -" "-- 

the Past," V 
o," Gov. Sul 
throp's Journal. 




QUEEN OF THE KENNEBEC 



Queen of the Kennebec 




By MRS. E. C. CARLL 

CHAPTER I. 

The Voyage. 

"Merrily, merrily, goes the bark 
On a breeze from the northward free, 
So shoots through the morning sky the lark 
Or the swan through the summer sea." 

— Lord of the Isles. 
* * * 

N THE afternoon of Tuesday, Sept. 19, 1775, with wind 
favorable, and the coast reported clear, an expedition 
in ten schooners and sloops set sail from Newburyport 
for the Kennebec and Canada ; a small force despatched 
by Washington, under command of Benedict Arnold. 

Keeping on the course, at midnight they hove to oflE 
Wood Island approaching the Kennebec from the 
southwest. The first view at dawn was not cheery, it looked dan- 
gerous ; there were many rocky islands at the mouth of the Kennebec. 
Although for a time a few missed their way, yet a little after sun- 
rise, one by one, the vessels entered the river mouth. 

Men under arms greeted the fleet and a pilot was provided, under 
whose guidance Arnold worked his way four miles up river to 
Parkers' Flats, where his vessel anchored for a few hours, then pro- 
ceeded six miles farther up river. Owing to rocks, islands, head- 
lands and confusing bays, the fleet had more or less separated, so 
some did better and some did worse than Arnold's topsail schooner, 
one going 30 miles from the sea, another using sails and oars aided 
by evening tide, succeeded in anchoring six miles below Fort West- 
ern. 

An hour before sunrise the next day, Arnold set out. When op- 
posite the present city of Bath, two missing vessels joined him. 
Sailing through Merrymeeting Bay they pushed on to Gardiners- 
town. Choosing the deep channel rather than Swan Alley, half way 
to the parting of the channels, they reached Little Swan Island, once 
the seat of a powerful sachem. Through Lovejoy's narrows, then 
rounding the island, they entered the full Kennebec, a noted point in 
the journey. On the left above the present village of Richmond, 
could be seen the remains of Fort Richmond, occupied in winter of 
1720-21, dismantled a generation later. On the right lay Pownal- 
borough, Dresden of to-day, a court house, gaol and a settlement. 



180 The Trail of the Mame Pioneer 

The surveyor for the Plymouth Company, Major Goodwin, lived 
there, and there Rev. Jacob Bailey preached to a congregation of loy- 
alists like himself. There could be seen another fort a mile above 
Swan Island, christened in 1751, Fort Shirley. After many hazard- 
ous happenings, the expedition reached the landing at Gardinerstown, 
Friday night, Sept. 22d. 

On the eastern shore of the Kennebec, two miles below the city 
of Gardiner, lived Major Reuben Colburn, on land granted in 1763. 
There he owned a good house, and there tradition says Colonel Ar- 
nold lodged. Arnold's reason for halting at that point was to see 
about batteaux. The Major had a shipyard, and the shore was cov- 
ered with white oak which would make excellent ribs for the batteaux, 
and pine could be sawed at Gardner's mills, so there they were made. 

The following is from Washington's letter of orders: "You are 
without delay to proceed to the Constructing of Two Hundred Bat- 
teaus to row with Four Oars each. Two Paddles and Two Setting 
Poles to be also provided for each Batteau. You are to engage 
Twenty men. Artificers, Carpenters and Guides to Assist. You are 
also to bespeak all of The Pork, and Flour you can from the In- 
habitants upon the River Kennebec. You are to receive Forty Shill- 
ings Lawful money for each Batteau out of which to pay for all. 

Given at Head Quarters at Cambridge this 3d day of Sept. 1775. 

Geo. Washington. 

By the General's Command. 

Horatio Gates, Adjt. Genl." 



The batteaux were quickly made, but Arnold did not feel pleased 
with them, and some were undersize. The bottoms were of green, 
thin pine. He calmly ordered 20 more to be made up for lack of 
capacity. Later, when the batteaux were going to pieces, the soldiers 
were not mild and Morrison, after four days' use, exclaimed: "Could 
we then have come within reach of the villains who constructed these 
crazy things, they would fully have experienced the effects of our 
vengeance. Did they not know that their doings were crimes, that 
they were cheating their country and exposing its defenders to addi- 
tional sufferings and to death ? ' ' Yet the boat builders were not really 
to blame; they were allowed short time in which to build, the bat- 
teaux were to be thrown away in a few weeks, need of strong boats 
was not understood. There was no guilty conscience on Colburn 's 
part, for he marched with the army. 

Another reason for stopping at Gardinerstown was that Major 
Colburn had been told by Washington to send scouts over the route. 
Dennis Getchell and Samuel Berry of Vassalborough were given the 
commission. Arnold received report from them, "that an Indian, 
Natanis, had told them he was employed by Governor Charlton to 




Aaron Burr 



Queen of the Kennebec 181 

watch motions of an army or spies that was daily expected from New 
England, that if we proceeded further, he would give information of 
our designs. Notwithstan^ling, we went up the river and had a con- 
ference with an Indian Squaw who told us that at Shettican there 
were a number of Mohawks that would destroy us." On account of 
shoal water it now seemed necessary to transfer to the batteaux, and 
this done, with a hundred men drafted to row, they moved on toward 
Fort Western, and the whole army arrived there before Sunday the 
24th. 



CHAPTER II. 

Aaron Burr. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power 
And all that beauty, all that wealth ere gave 
Await alike the inevitable hour, 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

— Gray's Elegy 




ANY books have been written of Aaron Burr. Partisan 
pens were dipped in the ink of prejudice. Jenkinson 
says, "Aaron Burr has the saddest of all histories, the 
victim of revengeful power and of studied and persist' 
ent duplicity. A man whose public life was without 
a stain, who never betrayed a friend or spoke ill even of 
an enemy ; a man of the highest ambition but who put 
aside the presidency of the United States rather than do a wrong to 
his party chief or disappoint the wishes of the people, has been for 
a whole century denounced as a man without integrity or sound prin- 
ciple ; a man who gave four years of his early manhood in fight- 
ing for the maintenance of the republic, has, upon mere clamor and 
prejudice for three generations been stigmatized as a traitor." 

Aaron Burr was born in Newark, N. J., in 1756, the only son of 
the distinguished Aaron Burr, President of Princeton College and 
grandson of the more distinguished Jonathan Edwards. He grad- 
uated from Princeton at 16, at 19 was studying law when the battle 
of Bunker Hill took place. He volunteered as a private in the ex- 
pedition just starting against Quebec. Through his cheerfulness he 
was the sustaining spirit. Arriving at Quebec, he was the messenger 
sent to Gen. Montgomery at Montreal to tell him of the arrival of the 
expedition. 

He safely reached Montgomery, who was so attracted by his tact 
that he appointed him aid on his staff with rank of captain. At the 
head of his 40 men, in face of a storm, he climbed the dangerous 
heights of Quebec. In the attack by the side of the general with an 



182 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

orderly sergeant and a guide, he led the column. All except Burr 
and the guide were killed. Slight though he was, he gathered the 
stalwart form of Montgomery in his arms and carried the remains be- 
yond reach of British guns. He became aid to Washington and Put- 
nam, commanded a brigade at Monmouth, was a leader of the Ameri- 
can bar, rose rapidly in politics, was attorney general of New York, 
United States Senator, Vice-President of the United States. 

Two great events in Burr's subsequent career mark his decline in 
popular esteem and shroud his declining years in gloom. In a duel 
he killed his great rival, Alexander Hamilton, soldier, statesman, 
president of the order of Cincinnati. Equal moral blame must at- 
tach to Hamilton, who also fought to kill; Hamilton, whose son had 
earlier been killed in a duel. It was the fault of the age. Duels 
have been fought by Gates, DeWitt Clinton, Randolph, Benton, Clay, 
Jackson, Decatur, Pitt, Wellington, Grattan, Fox, Sheridan and 
many another great man. God works in a mysterious way his won- 
ders to perform, and the death of Hamilton and disgrace of Burr led 
to the great change in public sentiment that has forever freed Amer- 
ica from the horrors of the code. 

The final great event in Burr's career, resulting in his trial and 
acquittal of the crime of treason, was his movement in reference to 
Mexico. As a large section of Mexico became later a part of this 
country, forming great and prosperous states in the Union, we may 
compare them with that distracted land below the Rio Grande and 
wonder whether Burr, instead of being a traitor, was not really a 
patriot, a man with a vision, who acted in advance of his time. In- 
deed, if he were a political leader to-day, would he not find himself 
with many prominent men who believe our southern boundary must 
be dropped from the Rio Grande to Panama. 

During the expedition when the forces lay near the heights of 
Quebec, Burr, whose stock of provision was a biscuit and an onion, 
went to a brook to drink. He was preparing to use the top of his 
cap as a drinking vessel, when a British officer, who had come to the 
other side of the brook for the same purpose, saluted him politely and 
offered use of his hunting cup. The officer, pleased with the frank 
and gallant bearing of the youth, bestowed upon him the magnifi- 
cent gift of part of a horse's tongue. They inquired each other's 
name. "When next we meet," said the Briton, "it will be as ene- 
mies, but if we should ever come together after the war is over, let 
us know each other better." 

Stepping upon some stones in the middle of the brook, they shook 
hands and parted. Thirty-six years after, when Colonel Burr was 
an exile in Scotland, he met that officer again. Each had a vivid 
recollection of the scene at the brook and a warm friendship sprang 
up between them. Col. Burr visited the home of the aged officer and 
received assistance of the most essential kind. 



Queen of the Kennebec 



183 



CHAPTER III. 

The Indian Girl. 

■'For he had read in Jesuit book 
Of those children of the wilderness, 
And now he looked to see a painted savage stride 
Into the room with shoulders bare, 
And eagle feathers in her hair, 
And around her a robe of panther's hide. 
Instead, he beholds with secret shame, 
A form of beauty undefined, 
A loveliness without a name, 
Not of degree but more of kind, 
Nor bold, nor shy, nor short nor tall. 
But a new mingling of them all. 
Yes, beautiful beyond belief, 
Transfigured and transfused 
The daughter of an Indian Chief." 

— Tales of a Wayside I mi. 




ACATAQUA, princess of the Abnaki tribe, which be- 
lieved they owned the shores of the Kennebec from the 
first creation, also believed themselves the only perfect 
Indians and that all other tribes were much inferior. 
Be that as it may, Jacataqua, a mixture of French and 
Indian blood, was the joy and pride of her people — 
brave, intelligent, self-reliant, strong and handsome. 
Under the training and influence of that then old and highly cul- 
tured civilization at Quebec, she combined the culture of old France 
and the lore of books, with that of her people and of the woods, 
speaking Indian, French and English. 

Jacataqua had been captured by a young officer at Swan Island, 
and was carefully guarded in the barracks. Burr, an occasional vis- 
itor, had taken a great liking to her and offered her captor a large 
sum for his prize. Hearing much of the proposed journey and be- 
ing fascinated by Burr, Jacataqua in her love of nature and knowl- 
edge of woods and streams, was eager for the journey to Quebec and 
insisted that she accompany them. 

We now pass from history to tradition, which thus brings this 
sketch to the whispering leaves of the old oak tree in Judge Maher's 
yard. Judge Howard had spoken of a field of corn in ground lately 
cleared on the plateau at the foot of Burnt Hill, saying it was much 
injured by wild animals, supposed to be bears. He wanted to send 
an armed party to destroy the mischief-makers. Jacataqua asked the 



184 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Judge what he would give her if she brought him the scalp of the 
offending animal. A bargain made, Burr laughingly suggested that 
she should have the company of the handsomest man of the company. 
At first she was unwilling, finally she said "Bring out your man," 
whereupon Burr presented himself. "Well," said she, "I cannot 
say but you are handsome, take your axe, I take my trusty rifle." 

So they set out, and after crossing the river in a canoe they en- 
tered the forest. In clearing the land. Judge Howard had left stand- 
ing a few large, white oak trees. On entering the field, they sud- 
denly saw a large bear and two cubs devouring the ripening corn. 
The cubs, about as large as shepherd dogs, fled to the big oak tree 
and climbed to the top. The mother reared upon her haunches, pre- 
paring for fight. Burr hesitated, but Jacataqua took aim and fired, 
and the bear fell. Burr rushed up supposing bruin dead, but the 
bear, not quite dead, tried to hug the handsome man, but could not 
more than reach him, badly tearing his clothes and leaving him 
minus one coat tail. 

The cubs, who had now resolved to wreck vengeance for the death 
of their mother, came down from the tree and assaulted Burr. De- 
fending himself with an axe. Burr killed one cub while Jacataqua 
placed a fatal shot in the heart of the other. 

"Now," said Burr, "we spend the rest of this morning in skin- 
ning these bears." 

"No! No!" says Jacataqua, "They are fat and eatable, a fat 
bear should be cooked with skin on and Indians scorch the hair off 
before making butcher's meat." Saying which she took the scalps 
from mother and cubs, and back to the fort in triumph went Burr 
and Jacataqua, 



CHAPTER IV. 

The Feast. 

"Sumptuous was the feast. 
All the bowls were made of bass-wood, 
White and polished very smoothly. 
She had sent through all the village. 
Messengers with wands of willow, 
As a sign of invitation, 
As a token of the feasting. 
And the guests assembled 
Clad in all their richest raiment. 

— Hiawatha's Wedding Feast. 





The Jacataqua Oak 
Scene of Aaron Burr's Wooing; of the Indian Mt id 



Queen of the Kennebec 185 




N HONOR of Jacataqua a grand entertainment was ar- 
ranged, and Capt. Morgan's Virginia Company of 
Riflemen were to barbecue the bears and roast them 
whole over an outdoor fire. The officers united with 
the soldiers in planning these festivities. Then volun- 
teers went forth to search for and bring in the bear and 
cubs. By noon they came back with the spoil and pre- 
pared them as Jacataqua directed. The next morning, the bears were 
hung over the blazing wood pile and the roasting went on. Tables 
were placed in front of Fort Western, between the block houses. 

Judge Howard felt particularly called on to donate something for 
this feast; for had not his cornfield been rid of its thieves? So he 
ordered ten baskets of corn to be picked and roasted for the spread. 
For dessert, he contributed one hundred pumpkin pies, many water- 
melons and wild cherries. Officers contributed pork and bread. 
Some soldiers brought in potatoes, supposed to be stolen. 

Among the invited guests were William Gardiner of Cobbossee- 
eontee, Major Colburn and Squire Oakman of Gardinerstown, Judge 
Bowman, Col. Gushing, Capt. Goodwin and E. Bridge of Pownal- 
borough. They and their ladies arrived in due time. 

The feast was spread with the mother bear in the centre and a 
cub at each end of the table, all the other edibles properly placed be- 
tween them. By mid-afternoon all was ready. There was a signal 
of a swivel from one of the transports, a response by volley of small 
arms and roll of drums. Led by the company officers, the troops 
marched to the tables, accompanied by field officers and invited 
guests. Dr. Dearborn and Dr. Senter did the disjointing and the 
carving. Judge Howard was at the head of the table, Jacataqua on 
his right, Aaron Burr on his left, Gen. Arnold presided at the far- 
ther end of the festive board. Field officers and guests were in oppo- 
site seats at the centre. 

Jacataqua 's hair was beautifully dressed in shape of a royal 
crown, a handsome peacock's tail hung gracefully behind her neck. 
Burr wore a blue swallow-tail coat, with gilt buttons, buif-colored 
vest, black breeches, silk stockings, silver buckles on shoes and at 
knees. 

Rev. Samuel Spring asked a blessing and commended the army 
to God's care, prayed for the people of the valley and for the 
huntress, that she might so influence her people of the wilderness as 
to give them safe conduct all along the march. The great gathering 
partook with gratitude and pleasure. 

After removing the cloth, came "toasts." Jacataqua was first 
called upon. She arose, glanced across Judge Howard to the hand- 
some man on the left of him and gave: "A. Burr, full of chestnuts." 
The cannon as well as the company roared. Then as Howard called 



186 



The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 



upon Burr, all listened for the response. Burr arose and very 
graciously gave: "The Queen of the Kennebec." 

Nothing like this feast had been served before, or was to be served 
afterwards. From now on provisions were coarse and scanty, di- 
minishing to the point of starvation. Never was an army involved in 
so severe an expedition. Nothing equals it in American history. 
The journey up the Kennebec to the Carrying Place, through the 
wilderness to the Chaudiere, thence following that stream to Quebec, 
occupied forty-five days, during which they endured severe hard- 
ships. 



CHAPTER V. 

Chestnutiana. 

Downward through the evening twilight 
In the days that are forgotten, 
In the unremembered ages. 
From the full moon fell Nokomis, 
Fell the beautiful Nokomis 
And the daughter of Nokomis 
Grew up like the prairie lilies, 
Grew a tall and slender maiden. 

— Hiawatha's Childhood. 

LTHOUGH Jacataqua was an educated j'oung woman, 
she was a true Indian, preferring their customs, be- 
lieving their ways best of all. Being a skilled Indian 
doctress and understanding the use of herbs and roots, 
she nursed the sick during all the journey through the 
wilderness to Quebec. Being also a mighty huntress she 
and her dog scoured the forest for food for the starving 
soldiers. Although all the other dogs were killed and used for food, 
none asked for Jacataqua 's dog. Hers was sacred. Indeed, she told 
them that her dog's security was the condition of her serving the 
hungry and sick white men. 

When Burr was obliged to leave the army, under the Heights of 
Quebec, he arranged with the English officer who had shaken his 
hand at the stream, for quarters to be provided for Jacataqua in one 
of the nunneries of Quebec. She hoped in time to rejoin him. 
There in Quebec, at the grey nunnery, on a bright June morning, was 
born the little Chestnutiana, possibly so named in memory of the 
mother's toast "A Burr full of Chestnuts" given at the Port West- 
ern banquet. 

Burr was off Long Island and there abounded choice hunting 
grounds. Knowing these would please the Indian huntress, he 




Queen of the Kennebec 187 

directed his British friend in Quebec to send her to him. The jour- 
ney was made by way of Montreal, Lake Champlain and North river 
to Col. Burr on Long Island. In the depths of the island he built for 
her a cabin where she lived for several years. 

* * * 

Later little Chestnutiana was adopted by the British officer, the 
old friend of Burr, and taken by him to his home in Scotland. He 
loved her tenderly and educated her for the first circles in his native 
land. She became quite a poetess, some of her verses are yet ex- 
tant. She married young and became Mrs. Webb. Her husband 
lost his fortune and they had to live on an annuity settled on her 
either by her natural or foster father. Ruined in fortune by the 
husband's extravagance, they came to New York to live, where Burr 
gave them the kindest attention. 

This lady was of the kindest and of high breeding, with too little 
of the provincial in her character to have more than a very slight re- 
spect for that terror of provincial souls — Mrs. Grundy. 

In the year 1834, one day Burr was alone and sick in his office. 
A coach drove up and this active, middle-aged lad}'- entered the room. 
She said she had come to take him to her home. She was at the head 
of a large, genteel boarding house near the Bowling Green, the 
house known as the old Gov. Jay house. 

Burr remained with Mrs. Webb until the summer of 1836, a help- 
less paralytic. Later he was removed to Richmond on Staten Island 
where apartments were secured for him in a small hotel. One morn- 
ing, coming to his room, Mrs. Webb said "What do you think I heard 
this morning, Colonel? They say I am your daughter." ''Well," 
said he, "we don't care for that, do we?" 

In the years she took care of him no child ever was more devoted 
to a father. When dying, he took her hand between his own in sup- 
plication, and said in tone of mingled tenderness and fervency, 
"May God forever and forever and forever bless you, my last, best 
friend. When the hour comes, I will look out in the better country 
for one bright spot for you — be sure. ' ' 

Thus ends the tale of the Kennebec. 

* * # 

Authorities. — I am indebted to the State Library for the following 
books: Aaron Burr by Isaac Jenkinson; Life and Times of Aaron Burr, J. 
Parton ; Journal of Aaron Burr, by M. L. Davis ; Arnold's March from 
Cambridge to Quebec, Justin H. Smith; Arnold's Expedition to Quebec, John 
Codman, 2d. 



GENERAL HENRY KNOX 




General Henry Knox 

By MRS. JOHN O. WIDBER 

UR country, to which we refer with pride as "The United 
States of America," was not in existence as such when 
Henry Knox was born. The thirteen original Ameri- 
can colonies were prosperous dependencies of the 
mother country. 

Among the many emigrants who came to share the 
fate of the colonists here, were some of Scotch-Irish 
descent from the north of Ireland. The names of two of these wor- 
thy families, Knox and Campbell, were united in February, 1736, 
when William Knox, a Bostonian shipmaster, married Mary, daughter 
of Robert Campbell. This William Knox was a descendant of John 
Knox, a native of East Lothian, Scotland, who was known as the 
reformer in the times of Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth and Mary, 
Queen of Scots. 

When Carlyle undertook the self-imposed task of selecting some 
of the representative heroes of different countries, he chose for Scot- 
land this same John Knox, of whom he wrote :"****** him- 
self a brave and remarkable man, but still more important as chief 
priest and founder, which one may consider him to be, of the faith 
that became Scotland's, New England's, Oliver Cromwell's. * * * * 
He is the one Scotchman to whom, of all others, his country and the 
world owe a debt." 

The home of William Knox, in Boston, a two-story, gambrel- 
roofed house on Sea Street, was a comfortable one for those times. 
The seventh of their ten sons, born July 25, 1750, was christened 
Henry Knox. A few years later the family lost their property and 
when the father died in 1762 Henry, a boy of twelve, became the sole 
support of his mother and younger brother. Only four of the ten 
boys lived to grow up ; the two eldest, John and Benjamin, took to a 
seafaring life, after which their family had no communication from 
them. William, the youngest boy, lived to be forty-one years of 
age and, during his whole life, was associated in many ways with his 
brother, Henry. 

Henry left grammar school to take a place in the book store of 
Messrs. Wharton & Bowes, in Cornhill, Boston. A thankful boy he 
was, too, for the opportunity of earning something to help his mother. 
Business was beginning to show the effects of political troubles which 
had begun to brew between England and the colonies, because of the 
encroachments of the mother country on what the colonists consid- 
ered to be their rights. 



192 The Tr^ail of the Maine Pioneer 

Besides attending to the many duties required of him at the book- 
binder's and stationer's place at Cornhill, young Knox managed to 
appropriate for himself much useful knowledge from the books to 
which lie had access. His choice of studies was governed by his great 
interest in military affairs and anything which he could find about 
generals or warriors was most carefully perused. He also learned 
to speak and write the French language, an accomplishment destined 
to prove useful in his later life, when he came to meet French officers 
of our ally across the water. As a young man, Knox w^as popular 
with his companions by whom he Avas frequentl.y chosen to take the 
lead in their outdoor sports. 

On September 28. 17G8, the citizens of Boston were enraged to 
see a fleet of British warships enter the harbor. Seven hundred 
British regulars, under General Gage, had been sent over to enforce 
the laws framed by the English Parliament to govern the Colonists, 
who, however, had no representatives in that body. The spirit of bit- 
ter revolt against the injustice of the mother country, that had long 
been seething in the colonies, fairly boiled at the establishment of an 
armed garrison within the city of Boston. 

On the niglit of iMarch 5, 1770, as young Knox was on his way 
home from a visit in Charlestown. he came upon an infuriated mob 
near the barracks of the British soldiers in the heart of the city. A 
sentry had been attacked by a citizen and other soldiers, arming them- 
selves with anything which was most convenient, rushed to his aid. 
This action led to the gathering of a mob of excited people. Another 
sentry was attacked in front of the custom house on King Street and 
six men were sent to aid him. At this the people began to jeer at the 
soldiers till, finally. Capt. Preston arrived with six more men to aid 
the soldiers who were on duty in front of the custom house. 

Knox used all the eloquence of which he was capable in urging 
Capt. Preston not to fire upon the people, but to withdraw his men 
into the barracks, but someone in the crowd struck at a soldier with 
a club and he, without waiting for orders, fired back. Other random 
shots followed, the result of which was the killing of three Boston cit- 
izens and the wounding of several others. This affair, known in his- 
tory as the "Boston Massacre." maddened the people still more and 
resulted in the withdrawal of the British troops to Castle William on 
a little island in the harbor. 

Soon after this, Henry Knox went into business for himself by 
opening "The London Book-Store" in Cornhill. His place was well 
stocked with the latest books and a complete assortment of stationery. 
Later he added to his business by doing bookbinding. His store be- 
came a popular resort for young and old, while British officers and 
Tory ladies were frequent customers. 

A certain young lady of the fashionable Torv society, Miss Lucy 
Flucker, became one of the most frequent callers at Knox's store. 
She seemed to be very fond of reading, especially of books sold by 




v#l^ 




Jv<t 




Majoi"-General Henry Knox 



General Henry Knox 193 

Knox and soon an intimacy sprang up between the young bookseller 
and his distinguished patron. Their regard for each other was mu- 
tual, but her parents, who were aristocratic Tories, were bitterly 
opposed to a union of their daughter with one of so plebeian an 
origin as was Henry Knox. 

A few years before this, Knox joined an artillery company known 
as "The Train," commanded by Maj. Adino Paddock. The company 
was well drilled by him and further instructed by British officers of a 
company of artillery who, on their way to Quebec, remained at Castle 
William during the winter of 1766. Thus the British officers were, 
all unknowingly, training soldiers whom they were afterwards to meet 
on the battlefield. 

The "Boston Grenadier Corps" was formed from a part of Pad- 
dock 's company, of which Henry Knox, at the age of twenty-two, was 
second in command. The members of this artillery company distin- 
guished themselves for their fine appearance and precise movements 
when on parade. Every one of the British officers gave them the 
tribute of saying that "A country that produced such hoy soldiers, 
cannot long be held in subjection." It is not to be wondered at that 
Miss Flucker was more than ever in love with gallant young Knox 
when she saw him on parade in the becoming uniform of the new com- 
pany and knew that he could not be unconscious of the admiring 
glances of other young ladies besides herself. He was accustomed to 
wear a silk scarf wrapped around his left hand to conceal a wound 
which he had received while out gunning on Noddle's Island 
in the summer of 1773, when the bursting of his fowling-piece de- 
prived him of the two smaller fingers. In painting his portrait many 
years later, Gilbert Stuart skillfully concealed this loss by having the 
General place his left hand on a piece of artillery. 

Thomas Flucker, the father of Miss Lucy, royal secretary of the 
province, tried to make her believe as he did, that, when the colonies 
were subdued by the Imperial Government, she would, if united with 
Knox, regret having acted contrary to the advice of her parents. But 
all this only seemed to fan the flame of her ardor and the love-making 
was continued. At last, thinking it better than to have an elope- 
ment in the family, her parents gave a reluctant consent to the mar- 
riage, which was performed by Rev. Dr. Caner on June 20, 1774, 
The happy pair at once began housekeeping, but not for long was 
the blessing of a peaceful home to be their.s, for, as the breach be- 
tween the colonies and the mother country widened, the lover hus- 
band felt it his duty to go where his country might have most need 
of his services. As Knox was known to sympathize with the colonists 
his movements were watched and he was forbidden to go away from 
the city. 

jfc * * 

Meanwhile, Henry Knox, who was still doing quite a thriving 
business in his bookstore, had been asked several times to go into 



194 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

service in the royal forces for lucrative purposes, but he declined all 
such offers. At last, on the 19th of April, he determined that he 
could no longer stay away from the colonial headquarters at Cam- 
bridge, where the minute-men from towns both near and far were 
now gathering. 

Leaving his brother, William, in charge of the bookstore he left 
Boston that night, accompanied by his wife, who had his sword con- 
cealed in the quilted lining of her mantle. Knox went into head- 
quarters of General Artemas Ward at Cambridge, who at that time 
had command of our soldiers, called the "rebel" troops, around Bos- 
ton, and offered his services as a volunteer. The siege of Boston was 
now begun and within a few days an untrained army of about six- 
teen thousand men had gathered there in readiness for the inevitable 
conflict. 

In the work of fortifying the city, Knox's previous study of mili- 
tary matters was put to good use. As his abilities came to be appre- 
ciated, he was sent to the vicinity of Charlestown to make plans for 
other formidable works. The later orders of Gen. Ward were in 
accordance with the plans made by Knox. After the battle of Bunker 
Hill, ]\Irs. Knox was taken to Worcester as a matter of safety, while 
her husband was vigorously engaged in helping some of the principal 
officers of the army in planning needed fortifications and superintend- 
ing their construction. Soon after General Washington had taken 
command of the Army at Cambridge, he made an inspection of the 
works around Boston and was well pleased with them. As for Knox, 
he was filled with admiration for the great general and the manner 
in which he conducted his duties. He was frequently in conference 
with him in regard to military affairs and a friendship sprang up 
between them which lasted through life. 

It required a long time to prepare for the siege of Boston. The 
most imperative need was for more siege guns and there seemed to be 
no way of procuring them. At last an idea came to the resourceful 
Knox, which, impractical though it seemed at first, was eventually 
carried out. Our forces had taken possession of a large supply of 
ordnance at the capture of Fort Ticonderoga by Ethan Allen on 
May 10, 1775, and Knox's hazardous plan was to transport that 
artillery by the crude methods of those times hundreds of miles across 
lakes, rivers and mountain ranges, all the way from Ticonderoga to 
the heights of Dorchester. This was indeed a bold plan, for Knox 
at that time was only twenty-five years old and his brother, William, 
who accompanied him on that memorable trip, was about nineteen. 
The bookstore at Cornhill had been looted by the British and Tories 
before this time. After careful consideration. Gen. Washington gave 
his consent to the plan, and in his final instructions to Knox said that 
the want of cannon was so great that "No trouble or expense must 
be spared to obtain them." 



General Henry Knox 195 

Knox thought that the total cost of the expedition need not exceed 
one thousand dollars, but in one of his account books is found the 
following short but comprehensive entry: "For expenditures in a 
journey from the camp around Boston to New York, Albany, and 
Ticonderoga, and from thence, with 55 pieces of iron and brass ord- 
nance, 1 barrel of flints and 23 boxes of lead, back to camp (includ- 
ing expense of self, brother, and servant), £520.15.8%." Gen. 
Washington instructed Gen. Philip Schuyler of Albany to aid Knox 
in any way that he could and he did much to help in procuring means 
of transportation, which w^ere flat bottomed scows, in which to ferry 
guns across Lake George, and heavy ox sleds on which to drag them 
across frozen rivers and over roads not made for such heavy traffic. 

On a stormy December evening, when Knox was on his way be- 
tween Albany and Ticonderoga, he stopped at a rude log cabin where 
travelers in that lonely region sometimes passed the night. Another 
man of about his own age slept on the floor with him under the same 
blankets. Each found the other an agreeable companion and their 
conversation on subjects of mutual interest was such as had probably 
never been discussed under that roof before. Knox's companion dis- 
played an intelligence and refinement that impressed him favorably 
and not until morning did they make known their identity to each 
other. Fate sometimes plays strange tricks for Knox's bedfellow 
was none other than Lieut. John Andre, a prisoner taken from the 
British by Gen. Richard Montgomery at St. John's when on an expe- 
dition to Canada, and now on his way to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, to 
await an exchange. 

A few years later when Andre, adjutant general of the British 
Army, was sentenced to the ignominious but deserved death of a spy, 
it fell to the lot of Henry Knox to be one of the general officers of the 
court-martial before which he was tried and sentenced. Knox per- 
formed this duty, though it was painful, because of the pleasant 
memories of that winter night in the bleak New York wilderness 
nearly five years before, when he and Andre had enjoyed pleasing 

converse together. 

* • • 

Many of the letters written and received by Knox have been pre- 
served and are now in the possession of The New England Historic 
Genealogical Society of Boston. The reading of these time-yellowed 
missives gives one a clearer idea of his character than can be obtained 
by the description of another. Those which he wrote to his wife 
show that he always held toward her the most affectionate devotion. 
A letter written from Albany on January 5th, 1776, gives a brief 
account of his adventures amidst ice, snow, forest and blind roads 
up to that point, and then goes on to tell something about the cities 
through which he passed. Speaking of New York he wrote: "The 
people, — why, the people are magnificent: in their equipages, which 
are numerous; in their house furniture which is fine; in their pride 



196 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

and conceit, M^iich is inimitable ; in their prof aneness, which is intol- 
erable; in the want of principle,' which is prevalent; in their Toryism, 
which is insufferable, and for which they must repent in dust and 
ashes." After writing more about Albany, the letter closes as fol- 
lows: "It is now past twelve o'clock, therefore I wish you a good 
night's repose and I will mention you in my prayers." 

Knox reached Ticonderoga December 5th, and as promptly as pos- 
sible got the unwieldy mass of ordnance started on its long journey. 
There were 55 pieces of ordnance as follows : 8 brass mortars, 6 iron 
mortars, 2 iron howitzers, 13 brass cannon, 18- and 24-pounders, and 
26 iron cannon, 12- and 18-pounders, 2300 pounds of lead and a bar- 
rel of flints. 

The homeward trip was fraught with much hardship and delay. 
A letter which Knox wrote to Gen. Washington from Fort George, 
December 17th, gives a word picture worth reading. Following are a 
few lines of that letter : " It is not easy to conceive the difficulties we 
have had in transporting them across the lake, owing to the advanced 
season of the year and contrary winds ; but the danger is now past. 
Three days ago it was uncertain whether we should have gotten them 
until next spring, but now, please God, they must go. I have had 
made 42 exceedingly strong sleds, and have provided 80 yoke of oxen 
to drag them as far as Springfield where I shall get fresh cattle to 
carry them to camp. The route will be from here to Kinderhook 
(New York) from thence to Great Barrington (Mass.), and down to 
Springfield. I have sent for the sleds and teams to come here, and 
expect to move them to Saratoga on Wednesday or Thursday next, 
trusting that between this and then we shall have a fine fall of 
snow, which will enable us to proceed further and make the carriage 
easy. If that shall be the case, I hope in sixteen or seventeen days' 
time to be able to present to your Excellency a noble train of artil- 
lery." 

At this point they were delayed because the needed snow did 
not fall for some days. On the way from Ticonderoga to Albany he 
found it necessary to cross the Hudson river four times. A January 
thaw made the ice unsafe for such ponderous loads and he was 
obliged to wait for severely cold weather to harden it. A letter writ- 
ten to his wife during this wearisome delay, begins like this : 

' ' ]\Iy Lovely and Dearest Friend : Those people who love as you 
and I do never ought to part. It is with the greatest anxiety that 
I am force 'd to date my letter at this distance from my love, and at 
a time, too, when I thought to be happily in her arms." 

Knox's determined perseverance finally overcame all obstacles 
and sometime before the first of March he had planted the coveted 
artillery on the fortifications at Dorchester Heights. 

On the morning of March 4th, the British were astonished to find 
the harbor and all the southern part of Boston under the "rebel" 
guns — Howe was forced to evacuate the city and with nearly nine 



General Henry Knox 197 

thousand troops, he sailed away to Halifax. Eleven hundred loyal- 
ists, or Tories, among them Mrs. Knox's father and his family, left 
at the same time. But, as secretary of the province, from which he 
had been forced to flee, he continued to draw £300 a year salary 
till some years later. In one of Mrs. Knox's letters to her husband 
in July, 1777, she comments on the drollness of this fact. 

Howe's army, which left on March 17, 1776, had suffered some 
privations during their long stay in Boston. Fuel was very scarce. 
They had even used for firewood the old North Church, from the 
belfry of which the lanterns had been hung as a signal to Paul Re- 
vere. Gen. Knox rode with the army into Boston and it is thought 
that his brother tried to piece together the remnants of the wreck of 
the book store, as Knox's letters to him from this time indicate that 
William remained in Boston. 

As it was thought that after Lord Howe's fleet had been re- 
cruited at Halifax, he would try to seize New York and the Hudson 
River, the American army was hurried to New York to make fortifi- 
cations and prepare for the expected invasion. Knox was sent to 
Connecticut and Rhode Island to plan needed fortifications for places 
on the coast. His wife and a little daughter, Lucy, lately arrived, ac- 
companied him a part of the way, staying for safety first at Nor- 
wich and later at Fairfield, Conn. 

The long-looked-for arrival of the enemy was on June 25th, 
Howe's forces outnumbering ours by at least six thousand men. lie 
established himself on Staten Island and for a time there was com- 
parative quiet. Mrs. Knox and little Lucy came for a visit to Knox's 
headquarters which were in the vicinity of what is now Broadway. 
She had been there but a short time, however, when a panic occurred 
in New York because some British ships were seen coming through 
the Narrows, and Mrs. Knox was precipitately returned to Con- 
necticut. Before the beginning- of hostilities. Admiral Howe sent a 
flag of truce up to the city. Colonels Reed and Knox went down in 
a barge to receive the message, but when the ofScer said he had a let- 
ter from Lord Howe to Mr. Washington, Col. Reed refused to re- 
ceive the communication because it was not properly addressed. A 
few days later, the adjutant general of Gen. Howe's army was sent to 
interview General Washington. Knox wrote a long letter to his wife 
about the interview which took place at his house. He spoke of the 
futility of the efforts of this man, Col. Patterson, to get any con- 
cessions from General Washington who he states "was very hand- 
somely dressed and made a most elegant appearance." 

For several months one misfortune followed another until it 
seemed to all but the most altruistic that the patriot cause was 
doomed. The British having taken full possession of the island of 
Manhattan, the remainder of Washington's army began to retreat 
across the Jerseys. It was late in November and bitterly cold. Gen. 
Howe believed that the American army would now decrease as the 



198 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

term of enlistment for many of the men expired in December, so he 
left Col. Donop with his Hessians and a Highland regiment to hold 
the line across the Jerseys and returned to winter quarters at New 
York. Washington wrote to the Governor of New Jersey and told 
him to be prepared for an invasion, also that it was best for the 
people to destroy their grain, stock or other effects which might be 
of use to the enemy. 

"While Washington was crossing the Delaware on his way to 
Pennsylvania, the British troops were marching into Trenton. In 
order to prevent pursuit Washington had taken possession of all 
water craft up and down the river for seventy miles. In order to 
surprise the enemy, Washington decided to try to recross the Dela- 
ware, Christmas night, and make an attack on Trenton. 

Letters from Knox to his wife give graphic descriptions of the 
movements of the army that memorable night. They found the 
enemy entirely unprepared and after a sharp, decisive battle the 
American victory was complete. He closed his letter with saying, 
''His Excellency, the General, has done me the unmerited great 
honor of thanking me in public orders in terms strong and polite. 
This I should blush to mention to any other than you, my dear Lucy ; 
and I am fearful that my Lucy may think her Harry possesses a 
species of little vanity in doing it at all." 

On Dec. 27th, the day following the famous battle of Trenton, but 
before the news of it had reached Congress, it had ordered a com- 
mission for Col. Knox by which he was made a brigadier-general. In 
writing to his wife from Trenton on Jan. 2, 1777, Knox tells her of 
his advancement and goes on to say: "People are more lavish in their 
praises of my poor endeavours than they deserve. All the merit I 
claim, is my industry. I wish to render my devoted country every 
service in my power ; and the only alloy I have in my little exertions 
is that it separates me from thee, — the dearest object of all my 
earthly happiness. May Heaven give us a speedy and happy meet- 
ing. — The attack of Trenton was a most horrid scene to the poor 
inhabitants. War, my Lucy, is not a humane trade, and the man 
who follows it as such, will meet with his proper demerits in another 
world." 

After this came the battle of Princeton, another American victory, 
as when it was over the enemy instead of being within nineteen miles 
of Philadelphia, were now sixty miles away with the numbers dimin- 
ished by about five hundred. Washington and his army went into 
winter quarters, an assemblage of huts at Morristown. Congress had 
finally decided to establish a foundry for easting cannon and labora- 
tories for the manufacture of powder. Knox was sent to New Eng- 
land to oversee these matters. While there he visited his wife who 
was then in Boston. It was on his advice, in a letter to Washington 
from Boston, Feb. 1, 1777, that the works which finally became the 
United States arsenal at Springfield, were established. A little later 



General Henry Knox 199 

occurred the birth of Knox 's second child and Mrs. Knox was staying 
with Mrs. Heath, wife of the Major-General Heath at Sewall's Point, 
now Brookline, Mass. 

The news of Burgoyne's surrender to Gates at Saratoga, on 
October 18, 1777, was received by the patriots with great enthusiasm. 
Before this, Knox in writing to his wife, soon after the battle of Still- 
water or Freeman's Farm, Sept. 19, says: "Observe, my dear girl, 
how Providence supports us. The advantages gained by our North- 
ern army give almost a decisive turn to the contest. For my own 
part, I have not yet seen so bright a dawn as the prospect, and I am 
as perfectly convinced in my own mind of the kindness of Providence 
toward us as I am of my own existence." 

Knox had obtained leave to visit his wife in Boston. Gen. Greene, 
writing to him from Valley Forge, February 26, 1778, tells of the 
terrible sufferings of the army and the imperative need of clothing 
and food. General Knox and a Captain Sargent were detailed to 
inform Congress of the sufferings of the starving and almost naked 
patriot soldiers at Valley Forge. General Knox's weight, which was 
the greatest of the eleven most important officers, was 280 pounds, 
while that of Washington was 209 pounds. 

To show off in a witty and sarcastic manner, one of the Congress- 
men, who had listened to General Knox's impartial statement of the 
needs of the soldiers who had been giving their all to their country's 
service, said he had not for a long time seen a man in better flesh 
than General Knox or one better dressed than Capt. Sargent. Knox 
maintained a discreet silence but his associate retorted "The corps, 
out of respect to Congress and themselves, have sent as their repre- 
sentatives the only man who had an ounce of superfluous flesh on his 
body and the only other who possessed a complete suit of clothes." 

The wives of several of the officers were at Valley Forge that 
spring, among them iMrs. Washington and Mrs. Knox. The latter 
remained with our army or very near its headquarters till the close 
of the war and vied with General Knox himself in popularity. 

While our army was in winter quarters at Pluckemin, N. J., in the 
winter of 1779, General Knox tried to make a beginning of an acad- 
emy for training officers for the army. This was built in the form of 
a parallelogram. He had built an auditorium, 50x30, where the men 
listened to lectures on tactics and gunnery. Work huts were built 
for those employed at the laboratory. Field pieces, mortars and 
heavy cannon were arranged to form the front side, huts of officers 
and privates formed the other sides. Although this camp was hastily 
built in only a few weeks it was well arranged and of good appear- 
ance. This humble beginning led to the establishment years later 
of the Military Academy at West Point, N. Y., which is today one 
of the finest in the world. 

That spring a great celebration was held, near the headquarters, 
at Pluckemin, in honor of the anniversary of the conclusion of the 



2(X) The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

treaty with France the year previous. A part of Thatcher's account 
of it reads as follows: "A splendid entertainment was given by Gen- 
eral Knox and the officers of the artillery The celebration 

was concluded by a splendid ball opened by his Excellency General 
Washington, having for his partner the lady of General Knox. ' ' 

The cares of motherhood must have sat lightly upon Mrs. Knox, 
for she seems to have been the life of nearly every social gathering 
spoken of during that trying time in our country's history and she 
was well-fitted for all such duties. In the summer of 1779 occurred 
the death of their second little daughter, and Gen. Washington took 
time from his own anxious cares to write a note of condolence to the 
bereaved mother. 

In May, 1781, Gen. Washington and Knox went to Connecticut to 
meet Count de Rochambeau in order to plan for the siege of New 
York, when they heard that Count de Grasse. with a French fleet of 
twenty-eight of the line and six frigates bearing twenty thousand 
men was about to sail for Chesapeake Bay from the West Indies. 
They then changed their first plan, although keeping up the appear- 
ances of carrying it out, while they were secretly preparing to go to 
Virginia and undertake the capture of the British Army. 

Washington considered it so necessary to deceive Clinton that he 
kept the plan secret except from a few of the most trusted officers. 
It would seem that Mrs. Knox, who was then up near Albany on a 
visit, wrote to her husband to learn something about the military sit- 
uation and the following letter, written from the camp near Dobb's 
Ferry, August 3, 1781, shows the tactful manner in which he parried 
her queries: "Yesterday was your birthday. I cannot attempt to 
show you how much I was affected by it. I remembered it and hum- 
bly petitioned Heaven to grant us the happiness of continuing our 
union until we should have the felicity of seeing our children flour- 
ishing around us and ourselves crowned w^ith virtue, peace, and years, 
and that we both might take our flight together, secure of a happy 
immortality ***** All is harmon.v and good fellowship between 
the two armies. I have no doubt, when opportunity oft'ers, that the 
zeal of the French and the patriotism of the Americans will go hand 
in hand to glory. I cannot explain to you the exact plan of the cam- 
paign: we don't know it ourselves. You know what we wish, but we 
hope for more at present than we believe." 

Washington's temporary headquarters were at Williamsburg, 
Virginia, and from there the Commander-in-chief, Knox, Rocham- 
beau, Duportail and Chastellux went down to De Grasse 's fleet and 
in Chesapeal^e Bay, and on board the "Ville de Paris," arranged 
a co-operation plan. Afterwards De Grasse announced his intention 
of putting to sea so as to meet the enemy outside. As it was feared 
that this might upset their plan of cutting off all hope from seaward 
for Cornwallis, Lafayette and Knox were sent to De Grasse and they 
porsuaded him to remain where he was. Gen. Greene, a steadfast 



General Henry Knox 201 

friend of Knox, wrote from his camp on the Santee, South Carolina, 
at about this time. By the purport of his letter, he evidently thought 
lack of means the reason why the operations against New York had 
not yet begun. He speaks of his young god-son, as follows: ''I long 
to see you and spend an evening's conversation together. Where is 
Mrs. Knox? and how is Lucy, and my young god-son, Sir Harry? I 
beg you will present my kind compliments and best wishes to Mrs. 
Knox. — Please to give my compliments to your brother and tell him 
we are catching at smoky glory while he is wisely treasuring up solid 
coin." This young "god-son. Sir Harry," was the baby at whose 
christening the Marquis de Lafayette officiated, as god-father. Many 
years later, after both General and Mrs. Knox had died, Lafayette 
visited this country in 1825 and, at that time, in an interview with 
Mrs. Thatcher, he told her of the peculiar circumstances of the christ- 
ening of her brother, Henry Jackson Knox. One god-father, the 
Marquis, was a Roman Catholic ; the other god-father, General 
Greene, a Quaker; Mrs. Knox, an Episcopalian; and the General, a 
Presbyterian. 

For several weeks the enemy was beguiled by the strategy of 
Washington until in August, having learned that Count de Grasse 
would soon arrive, he got the armies ready for a combined attack. 
Meanwhile, Gen. Knox had been procuring as large a force of artillery 
as possible and, as Washington said in his later report to Congress 
in speaking of the services of Knox : ' ' the resources of his genius sup- 
plied the deficit of means." The bombardment of the city began on 
October 6th, and the British works, unable to withstand such a can- 
nonading as came from the allied troops, crumbled and fell. On the 
17th of October, 1781, just four years after the surrender of Bur- 
goyne, Cornwallis surrendered and his entire army of more than eight 
thousand men became prisoners of war. 

The next morning, Knox wrote to his wife, who had been staying 
since September with Mrs. Washington at ]\Iount Vernon : " I have 
detained William until this moment that I might be the first to com- 
municate good neivs to the charmer of my soul. A glorious moment 
for America ! This day Lord Cornwallis and his army march out and 
pile their arms in the face of our victorious army. ****** The 
General has just requested me to be at headquarters instantly, there- 
fore, I cannot be more particular." 

On the recommendation of General Washington, Knox was pro- 
moted by Congress as Major-General dating from November 15, 1781. 
From now on his headquarters were at West Point and he was 
appointed to the command of that post August 29, 1782. He at once 
began to strengthen the fortifications. Washington showed implicit 
confidence in him, when writing instructions, by saying: "I have 
so thorough a confidence in you, and so well acquainted with your 
abilities and activity, that I think it needless to point out to you the 
great outlines of your duty. ' ' 



202 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

On April 19, 1783, exactly eight years after the battle of Lexing- 
ton, General Washington declared war ended and disbanded the 
army. The Chevalier de Chastellux, a Major-General in Rocham- 
beau's army and a member of the French Academy, became greatly 
attached to General and Mrs. Knox during his stay in America. 
After his return to France he corresponded with Gen. Knox. One 
of his letters, dated March 30, 1782, speaks of the then recent alli- 
ance of our country with France. He says: "My sentiments will 
always meet yours, and I hope that I shall not be excelled in serving 
America and loving General Knox. Let us be brothers in arms, and 
friends in time of peace. Let the alliance between our respective 
countries dwell in our bosoms, where it shall find a perfect emblem 
of the two powers : in mine, the seniority ; in j^ours, the extent of ter- 
ritory. 

"I depend upon your faitli, and I pledge my honour that no 
interest in the world can prevail over the warm and firm attach- 
ment with which I have the honor to be 

' ' De Chastellux. ' ' 

Just before this, the active mind of Knox had planned the form- 
ing of a society to perpetuate the friendships formed by officers of the 
army and provide for their indigent widows and surviving children ; 
each officer on joining the society was to contribute to its funds his 
pay for one month. The society to be known as "The Cincinnati" in 
honor of the illustrious Quinctius Cincinnatus, as these officers were 
resolved to follow his example and return to citizenship. Some there 
were who laughed this idea to scorn, nevertheless the officers of the 
army did form such a society, whose existence even to this day tes- 
tifies to the wisdom of its founders, and their illustrious example still 
helps to keep alive the fires of patriotism throughout our land. On 
August 26, the delicate task of disbanding the army at West Point 
was intrusted to General Knox. After concluding his labors at West 
Point, General Knox returned to live one year in Boston. 

Congress decided in 1785 to continue the office of Secretary of 
War and on March 8, 1785, elected Knox to fill that ofBce. Washing- 
ton, who felt assured of the wisdom of this appointment, wrote to 
Knox, saying: "Without a compliment, I think a better choice could 
not have been made." The way in which Secretary Knox conducted 
the duties of his office during the critical period between the close of 
the war and the adoption of the Constitution evidently fulfilled the 
anticipations of his chieftain, for, in 1789, Knox was re-appointed 
Secretary of War by President Washington. 

The army then numbered about seven hundred men and the be- 
ginnings of a navy were entrusted to his care. He also had charge 
of the Indian affairs. Knox's establishment at New York was costly 
and he maintained a high social standing. Rufus W. Griswold, in 
speaking of Gen. and Mrs. Knox, at this time, says: "She and her 



General Henry Knox 203 

husband were, perhaps, the largest couple in the city and both were 
favourites, he for really brilliant conversation and unfailing good 
humor, and she as a lively and meddlesome but amiable leader 
of society, without whose co-operation it was believed by many be- 
sides herself that nothing could be properly done in the drawing- 
room or the ball-room, or any place, indeed, where fashionable men 
and women sought enjoyment." 

After having served his country well for nearly twenty years, 
Secretary Knox decided to withdraw from public duties and devote 
himself to the needs of his family, accordingly he sent in his resigna- 
tion and retired from President Washington's cabinet at the close 
of the year, 1794. 

Before this, Knox had become the possessor, partly through his 
wife's inheritance and partly through purchase, of a vast tract of 
wild land in Maine, being the greater part of what was known as the 
Waldo patent, which was originally the property of Mrs. Knox's 
grandfather, Gen. Samuel Waldo of ]\Iassachusetts. This land, which 
was bounded on either side by the Penobscot and Kennebec Rivers, 
included nearly all of what is now Knox, Waldo, Penobscot and Lin- 
coln Counties. Holman's Day's poem, "When General Knox Kept 
Open House" speaks of the General's domains in Maine. The first 
and last stanzas are as follows : 

"From Penobscot to the Kennebec, from Moosehead to the sea, 
Was spread the forest barony of Knox, bluff Knox ; 
And the great house on the Georges it open was and free, 
And around it, all uncounted, roved its bonny herds and flocks. 
****** 

' ' Oh, welcome was the silken garb, but welcome was the blouse, 
When Knox was lord of half of Maine and kept an open house." 

Gen. Knox and two of his friends, Henry Jackson and Royal 
Flint, formed an organization kno\vn as the Eastern Land Associates, 
and in 1792 they purchased from the Commonwealth of Massachu- 
setts an immense tract of wild land in Maine. This was estimated to 
contain 2,000,000 acres, bounded on the south by land they had pur- 
chased previously; on the west by a line six miles from the east 
branch of the Penobscot River; on the east by the Schoodic River; 
and on the north by the line betv/een Canada and Maine. They paid 
$5,000 within a month and the balance in $30,000 annual payments. 
This was afterwards sold to Hon. William Bingham of Philadelphia 
and kno^^^l as the Bingham purchase. It is thought that Gen. Knox 
probably used money obtained from this sale to start the building of 
of his fine mansion at Thomaston in 1793. 

The site which he selected for his future home was well chosen 
on the banks of the river Georges, near that of the old fortress, pro- 
tected by the forest from the cold northeast winds, and exposed in 



204 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

summer to the cooling southwest breezes, wliich rarely failed to come 
with the tide, and refresh the balconies on hot afternoons. From the 
front, the view down the river, eight or ten miles to the sea, was de- 
lightful. 

The house had a basement of brick and two stories above, built of 
wood from the estate and a fourth story was cupola-like in the centre, 
part of the roof being of glass. Carved wood urns ornamented the 
corners of the roof. The outbuildings, stables, farm-house, cook- 
house, etc., were built a little distance back so that, with the mansion 
in the center and nine buildings on either side, a large crescent was 
formed, slanting back from the river. From a part of these build- 
ings, a covered walk led to the mansion. The whole was in imita- 
tion of the style of the best Virginia homesteads of that day. The 
road in front of the house ran to the stable on the east. 

What is now Knox Street in Thomaston, was formerly the drive- 
way and the gateway was surmounted by the figure of an American 
Eagle of carved wood. After the opening of Knox Street this gate 
was removed and one entered the estate of General Knox by a double 
gate at the foot of Knox Street. The center of this gate was also orna- 
mented by a carved wooden eagle. The mansion was named "Mont- 
pelier" by Mrs. Knox. It has been stated that this came about 
through a French taste which she had acquired from an intimacy 
with Mrs. Bingham, wife of Senator Bingham, of Philadelphia, who 
was for some time a resident of France. 

The mansion was 52 feet wide and 42 feet deep. The two corner 
room were 16 feet square ; the oval, or bow-room, in the center was 
20 feet long and 16 feet wide. This w^as the General's reception 
room. A portrait of General Knox by Gilbert Stuart, and one of 
Thomas Flucker by John Singleton Copley hung on the walls. Set- 
tees brought from France were a part of the furniture. Mrs. Knox's 
piano was the first brought to that region. The French settees and 
the sideboard which came from the Tuileries palace, are now owned 
in Portland. The floors were uncarpeted in the General's day. The 
walls of the wide halls and staircases were covered with a back- 
ground of buff-colored paper, resembling tapestry, and large em- 
bossed brown paper figures of men, dressed in old costumes with 
guns, ornamented the sides of the staircases. Back of the parlor was 
the dead-room. The black-bordered, lead-colored walls and sombre 
floor seemed to the designer eminently fitting for the sad uses to 
which the room was put whenever death had entered the home. In 
the library, were pictures of ladies, reading. Here -were Gen. Knox's 
sixteen hundred books, the second largest collection in Maine. About 
one-fourth of these were in the French language. 

To this lovely home, situated amid the beautiful trees, which had 
been growing for years on these ancestral acres, came, in the early 
summer of 1795, General and Mrs. Knox from Philadelphia. Thus 
was brought into the quiet village of Thomaston a new mode of life 




H 



a 







O 01 



General Henry Knox 205 

and a new series of activities such as the plain people of this old- 
fashioned village had never before witnessed. Many are the stories 
still told of General Knox and the state which he maintained at 
Montpelier. 

When General Knox came to Thomaston, he was forty-five years 
of age and in the full vigor of manhood. His well-kept, command- 
ing, military figure added an air of grandeur to the humble streets 
of Thomaston. The sound of his voice was in keeping with his per- 
son, and, in listening to him, one realized that he had been one to give 
orders, instead of to take them. The "stentorian" voice of General 
Knox which was audible "above storm of battle elements combined" 
is frequently spoken of by his biographers. 

He was, however, exceedingly kind and considerate of others. He 
was of a cheerful, optimistic nature and was never so happy as when 
contributing to the enjoyment of others. Yet he never relinquished 
his dignity and all who came to know him realized that he was a man 
of superior intelligence. The peculiar way in which he signed his 
name (HInox), the last stroke of the H forming the first part of 
the K, was a habit acquired in his youth. 

General Knox's family, when he came to Thomaston, consisted of 
his wife, eldest daughter, Lucy F., who afterwards became the wife 
of Ebenezer Thatcher, then a young lady of nineteen ; Master Henry, 
also called Harry, the "spoiled child" of fifteen; and the youngest 
child, Caroline, who afterwards became Mrs. James Swan, and later 
the wife of Senator Holmes, then a charming little miss of four years. 

The home of Gen. and Mrs. Knox was honored by many distin- 
guished visitors. Among these were: Talleyrand, Louis Phillippe, 
the Duke de Liancourt, Rochefoucauld, the Viscount de Troailles, 
Alexander Baring, who later bore the title of Lord Ashburton, and 
many other famous men. Nathaniel Hawthorne visited Montpelier 
some years after the death of General and Mrs. Knox. At one time 
General Knox invited the entire tribe of Tarratine, or Penobscot, In- 
dians to come for a visit. They all came and, to all appearances, 
greatly appreciated the repasts which General Knox caused to be pro- 
vided for them. Finally, after these enormous feasts had depleted 
the larder of General Knox and exhausted his patience by weeks of 
continuance, he felt constrained to say to the chief: "Now we have 
had a good visit, and you had better go home." As "Uncle Side- 
linger" has aptly expressed it "That was sartinly givin' Thanksgivin' 
comp'ny a good, hard hunch, but some Injuns need it." 

It was not for lack of energy that the many schemes of General 
Knox for making a fortune out of the natural resources of his vast 
estate did not succeed ; for he began at once to set up saw-mills, lime- 
kilns, marble-quarries and brick yards ; also constructed vessels, locks 
and dams. He bought Brigadier's Island from "squatters" on his 
o^Yn property and turned it into a stock farm for the breeding of im- 
ported cattle. 



206 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

The cost of earrjang on so many branches of business, in none of 
which he had had any previous experience to guide him, proved too 
heavy a drain on his resources. Disputes about the boundaries of the 
islands in the Waldo patent caused General Knox to enter into ex- 
pensive lawsuits and, with all this on his hands, it is not surprising 
that he became heavily involved in debt. Some of the best friends 
he had made while in the army became his heaviest creditors. He bor- 
rowed money on mortgages, which he was never able to pay. 

His financial straits were not relieved before his life of vigorous 
activity was abruptly ended on Ocetober 25, 1806, by his having inad- 
vertently swallowed a small fragment of chicken bone, which, lodging 
in the aesophagus or stomach, caused him great suffering which 
finally ended in mortification and death. His funeral was held on 
October 28, with military honors, and his body placed in a tomb near 
his favorite oak tree, under whose cooling shade he had often rested. 
This tomb, proving susceptible to injuries from frost and water, the 
remains were removed seven years later to another on the bank of the 
river and, three years later, for similar reasons again removed to a 
place a short distance east of the mansion, near a grove of his be- 
loved trees. 



Life at Montpelier now underwent a radical change, for the 
estate, when administered upon by the Geenral's widow, proved in- 
solvent. Her remaining years were spent in the seclusion of her 
home, as she preferred this to going out in any other style than that 
to which she had been accustomed. 

Much of the beauty of the mansion now gradually passed away. 
Gates, fences and outbuildings became dilapidated and were removed. 
The piazza, colonnade and balconies surrounding the mansion, be- 
came much in need of repair and were finally removed a year before 
the death of Mrs. Knox, which occurred June 20, 1824. 

The marriage of General Knox's youngest daughter to Senator 
Holmes occurred in 1837 and his coming to the family home wrought 
many changes for the better. Everything was kept up as nearly like 
its former grandeur as possible, considering the ravages of years. 
After his death, Mrs. Holmes continued her residence there, but 
although she did the best she could with her slender means, she was 
unable to make repairs and improvements as needed, and the estate 
deteriorated as time went on. Her death occurred in 1851, and then 
came to Montpelier the last members of the Knox family who ever 
occupied the ancestral home. Mrs. Lucy Thatcher, then a widow, and 
her daughter, Mrs. Hyde, who died a year previous to her mother in 
1854. The estate then descended to a grandson of General Knox, 
Lieut. Henry Knox Thatcher of the U. S. Navy, who, maintaining that 
the expense of keeping up the mansion and the necessary entertain- 
ment was greater than he could bear, demanded its sale at any figure. 



General Henry Knox 207 

Mr. Woodhull, the executor, endeavored to sell to some one who would 
preserve it, but that was not to be achieved. 

That was a commercial era, almost utterly devoid of sentiment or 
the sacrilege of destroying that historic mansion never would have 
been permitted. The Legislature of 1871 was asked to purchase it for 
$7,000, but the senator from Knox County cautioned the representa- 
tives of that county against voting favorably until they had consulted 
their towns, as it might cause a heavy tax upon these towns, so no 
definite steps were taken. Before the Legislature met again, the 
Knox & Lincoln Railroad was constructed and passed between the 
mansion and the servants' quarters. The house was then sold for 
$4,000 by local parties and torn down. 

At this time the remains of Gen. Knox and other members of the 
family which were in the tomb, were removed to the cemetery, which 
had been one of his gifts to the town. A plain marble shaft bearing 
the following inscription was placed over the grave : 

Major-General 

H. Knox 

who died Oct'r 25th, 1806. 

Aged 56 years. 

' ' 'Tis Fate 's decree ; Farewell ! thy just renown, 
The Hero's honour, and the good Man's crown." 

For a long time the lot had an uncared-for appearance, but a few 
years ago a great-granddaughter of General Knox, Mrs. Fowler, 
caused it to be enclosed by a handsome curbing of granite and also 
had the monument raised and placed upon a granite base. The part 
of the monument bearing the inscriptions, is square, surmounted by 
a pyramidal top about nine feet in height. The inscription in honor 
of the General is on the southern side ; the names of Mrs. Lucy Knox, 
his widow, who died in 1824, and their daughter, Caroline Holmes, 
the wife of Hon. John Hohnes, who died in 1851, are inscribed on the 
western side; those of Henry Knox, the son, Mr. Swan (the first 
husband of Mrs. Holmes), and Mrs. Lucy K. F. Thatcher, the eldest 
and last surviving child of General Knox, on the eastern side; the 
names of the nine children, who died in infancy, or early childhood, 
are on the northern side. At either side of the monument are light 
marble stones, on the western of which are carved the names of 
Ebenezer Thatcher and daughter, Mrs. Hyde ; and on the eastern, the 
name of James Swan Thatcher, who was lost at sea in the U. S. 
Schooner, Grampus, in March, 1843. The grave of Senator Holmes 
is also here, but the monument erected to his memory, is in Alfred, 
Maine, where he lived the greater part of his life. 

During the life of General Knox, his son, Harry Jackson Knox, 
was nominated a midshipman in the U. S. Navy, but this failed to be 



208 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

confirmed by the Senate. Later, he did enter the navy but won no 
special credit. He changed greatly during his last years, became 
deeply religious, and evidently, through remorse because he had not 
always borne with honor the illustrious family name, requested that 
he be buried in a very deep grave in the burial ground at Thomaston, 
and that his last resting place should alwaj^s remain unmarked. Thus 
it is ; the spot denoted only by an iron fence. 

What is now the railroad station in Thomaston is one of the orig- 
inal buildings erected by General Knox in 1793, and used by him as 
the farm house. The original walls of this house remain to-day, and 
it has never been moved. Another of the outbuildings is on the same 
spot where it was built and now forms part of a mill. 

"Montpelier's stately roof is low and scattered all its gear; 
Its plenteous cellars have been choked with earth for many a year. ' ' 

The bell which General Knox hired Paul Revere of Boston to 
cast, purposely to be hung in the tower of the North Parish Church 
on Mill River Hill, during the years of his residence in Thomaston, 
and for which the receipted bill found in Knox's papers shows that 
the cost was Four Hundred Dollars, is still in use ; about fifteen years 
after General Knox had died, the bell became cracked and was sent 
to the Paul Revere works to be recast. The original motto wi'itten 
by General Knox was not preserved and the lettering at present is : 



REVERE BOSTON, 1822 



Plans for attempting what seems to be the only thing which can 
now be done in the way of reparation, to build a fire-proof reproduc- 
tion of ''Montpelier" in which to collect and preserve such relics of 
the Knox family as can be obtained either by gift or by loan, are now 
being made by the General Knox Chapter of The Daughters of the 
American Revolution, at Thomaston. If the public responds to their 
calls for sympathy and co-operation, and Congress should make an 
appropriation for that purpose, ]Maine may, in time, have a memorial 
to General Knox second only in historic interest to Mount Vernon. 

Unquestionably, General Knox was one of the most distinguished 
citizens who ever made his home in Maine. His valor, ingenuity and 
military skill caused him to become, first, Washington's trusted 
friend, then his chief of artillery, of which office he faithfully and 
efficiently discharged the duties under the successive ranks of colonel, 
brigadier-general and major-general to the end of that historic strug- 
gle, known as the Revolution ; and, furthermore, as President Wash- 
ington's Secretary of War he helped establish the first successful 
federal government in history. 



A GLIMPSE OF BELFAST UNDER MAINE'S FIRST 

GOVERNOR 



A'XGlimpse of Belfast Under Maine's First 

Governor 

By HESTER P. BROWN 

Men of Maine 

The Pine Tree State strict promise gives, 

Few lures that call in vain, 
But rugged soil and wholesome toil 

Give stalwart men of Maine. 

They ask no odds of fickle fate 

A livelihood to gain; 
Their rock and cold they turn to gold, 

The sturdy sons of Maine. 

To bring to us the wondrous stores 

The mighty seas contain, 
While others sleep, they search the deep. 

The fishermen of Maine. 

Afar upon the western slope 

And on the mid-west plain, 
"Where trade invites, or gold requites. 

Are found the men of Maine. 

Yet in their thought their private good 

Does not with most obtain; 
In field or hall our country's call 

Counts first with men of Maine. 

"God bless the Massachusetts line!" 
Make that onr proud refrain; 
For Washington, the battle won, 
Thus thanked the men of Maine} 

The grand old flag our fathers raised 

And bore without a stain. 
Still hold it high, as j'-ears roll by, 

Ye loyal men of Maine. 

^*'Men from the counties of York and Cumberland." — /. L. 
Chamberlain. 



212 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 




N A BRIGHT morning late in May, one thousand eight 
hundred and twenty, the packet "Superb," sailing 
from Boston to Belfast, carried among her passengers 
two persons for whom the lovely shores of Penobscot 
Bay held a peculiar interest. One, a middle-aged man, 
looked curiously for the changes brought about during 
an absence of some years; the other, a young girl at 
his side, gazed admiringly at the panorama of hills and inlets and 
wooded isles unfolding before her. As they neared the end of their 
journey, both noted the large number of sailing craft in the harbor — 
that harbor of which William White in 1827 said : ' ' The British navy 
might float in it commodiously." 

' ' We shall see the town presently, ' ' said the man, pointing to the 
right bank. "There, now!" as they caught sight of the clustered 
buildings on lands sloping to the shore. "Don't you think you will 
like to live here a year with your aunt?" 

"Maybe, sir; I can tell better after I have seen my aunt," an- 
swered the girl with a teasing smile. 

"You will like your aunt. Jennet, everybody does. And she will 
teach you the things all women ought to know — to spin and sew and 
manage a house. 'Lizabeth used to be great on 'lection cake," he 
said reminiscently. "It's like to be extra good and big this year." 
Then there was the bustle of landing — passengers looking up their 
baggage, sailors making fast to the wharf, the noisy running of 
ropes and a general accentuation of the all-pervading tarry smell. 

"We are in early," said Jennet's father, "and I'll leave you at 
the tavern for a bit while I see about a conveyance to take us the two 
miles we have to go." So Jennet looked out at the "Babel" and 
anything else within her range of vision, till her father came around 
with a neat wagon and driver, and the two proceeded along a rough 
and muddy road on the last stage of their journey. 

Aunt 'Lizabeth was a large, wholesome, hearty. woman, who car- 
ried her fifty years lightly. Joseph Whipple must have had that 
type in mind when he wrote of "the females of the District of 
Maine:" "Their fine, healthy appearance and easy manners are prob- 
ably not exceeded in any country." Jennet decided to like her; a 
conclusion which was sure to make things pleasanter all 'round. 

It was baking day and when the door of the great brick oven was 
opened, the savory odors floated through the kitchen and into the 
front room in which Jennet, as an honored guest, had been seated. 
Everything in the room bespoke industry and thrift. The carpet, as 
she afterwards learned, had been carded, spun, colored and woven 
by Aunt 'Lizabeth 's ovv'n hands out of "tag locks" or inferior wool, 
in a year when wool sold slowly. More of Aunt 'Lizabeth 's handi- 
work appeared on the Avail in the shape of a sampler wrought with 
colored silks in various fancy stitches. The furniture was heavy. 





First Parish Meeting House, Built 1813 





Governor Crosby Homestead, Built in 1803, Restored 1900 



A Glimpse of Belfast Under Maine's First Governor 213 

handsome, and, like all of Aunt 'Lizabeth's belongings, including 
Uncle Daniel, well-kept. 

"We didn't really look for you till afternoon, or some one would 
have gone to the village to fetch you," apologized Aunt 'Lizabeth 
as she bustled about the kitchen whither Jennet had gone in quest of 
human companionship. "Your father's gone out to see the men- 
folks till dinner time. I told him to bring 'em right along in before 
it is too late." 

At dinner there were the "men-folks" — Uncle Daniel and his tv/o 
stalwart sons — and the "bound girl" who helped Aunt Elizabeth 
with the house work and who viewed Jennet and her father with 
lively interest. The meal was served in the large kitchen, where 
steaming pots hung on the crane and where all the appointments 
suggested a table where there was "always room for one more" — or, 
indeed, for several more. Aunt 'Lizabeth, flushed and cheery, 
beamed on her guests as Uncle Daniel, after a short grace, served 
portions of the pickled pork, greens and potatoes. Aunt 'Lizabeth 's 
bread was the envy of her neighbors, and there were goblets of milk 
for those who did not care for "hot drink," and turnovers — mince 
turnovers — for dessert. So passed Jennet's first dinner in Belfast. 

On Sunday the family walked two miles to attend service at the 
First Parish Church. This church was the pride of the town. Well 
located, "originated, prosecuted and finished in great harmony"^ in 
1818, and with a Paul Revere bell,^ hung in the following year, it was 
the most notable building in Belfast. In the high white pews, each 
with its green door fastened by a large wooden button, well-bred 
children were neither heard nor seen, though they weVe present in 
numbers. From his pulpit, on a level with the galleries, the Rev. 
William Frothingham delivered a graceful, scholarly sermon, and the 
choir sang from " Watts 's Selection;" while a tithingman kept vig- 
ilant, though unobtrusive, watch of the manners of the congregation. 

"A fine church you have here, 'Lizabeth," said Jennet's father, 
as they walked home. 

"Yes, William," rejoined Aunt Elizabeth; "but meeting-houses 
and creeds and ministers are a good deal like children — sometimes 
they're a bond of union, and again they're a bone of contention. 
Did you mind Cousin Harriet and her two girls settin' in their pew 
while John with the other children was over worshippin' at the other 
place? And John and Harriet are both as good as gold, and sure, 
you might say, to go to heaven ; only they can 't travel by the same 

^William White in "History of Belfast." 

2"0n the old 'stock book' of Paul Revere & Son the above bell is number 
219 and its weight is given as twelve hundred and sixty pound?. The date of 
the entry is 17 February, 1820, and its location was to be Belfast, Me." — 
IVilliamson's History of Belfast, Vol. 2. 



214 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

road. And other families are divided on Sunday. Of course you've 
heard?" 

"Yes, but 3^ou see, Elizabeth, each must 'work out his own sal- 
vation.' He can't make a family matter of it." 

* * * 

In the next week Jennet's domestic education began, but there 
was time for frequent trips to "the village" with her father, who 
liked to point out the familiar landmarks — the five hills on which 
Belfast was built, with the Field homestead crowning one, the 
Crosby homestead upon another ; and in the lower part of the town 
the Academy in the midst of its ample grounds. The ship-yards, 
too, were a source of interest though no vessel was now upon the 
stocks. Here within a few years had been built the "Abigail," the 
"Packet," the "Superb," the "Rambler" and others. Here Jennet 
delighted in the scent of the salt sea air while she listened to "what 
the waves were always saying." 

On the thirty-first day of May, that day when for the first time 
Maine elected a governor all her own. Aunt Elizabeth served one of 
her very best salmon dinners, and in the afternoon and evening cake 
and wine were offered to any callers. These festivities were de- 
signed both to welcome in the new administration and to "speed the 
parting guest," for Jennet's father would sail for Boston the next 
day. 

Now the spinning lessons began in earnest. Every day Jennet 
had her "stent" to do; and in the long afternoons — very long after- 
noons they were when the noon meal was despatclied at eleven o'clock 
by the sun — Aunt 'Lizabeth told stories of the Penobscot expedition 
of 1779, when the settlers of Belfast, "to the last man, abandoned 
their homes, leaving their flocks in the pastures, and the corn in the 
fields ready for harvest."^ One citizen lowered a box of silver into 
his well whence he recovered it after the "little unpleasantness" 
was over. 

Then there was the story of the Miller brothers, James and 
Robert, who "aided and abetted" General Wadsworth and Major 
Burton on the occasion of their escape from Fort George, Castine.* 
The fugitives reached Belfast tired and hungry, but dared not stop 
at the home of the elder Miller, who was known to be their friend; 
so the two young men led them a mile into the wilderness and there 
built a rude camp of evergreen trees. Evergreen boughs made a 
comfortable bed, and the Millers furnished blankets, food, and later 
a pocket-compass to help them out of the woods. 

There were tales, too, of that foggy morning in September, 1814, 
when the British marched on Hampden. How the resistance of the 

^White: History of Belfast, p. 42. 

*White and Williamson both mention this occurrence. 



A Glimpse of Belfast Under Maine's First Governor 215 

militia drew on the town the vengeance of the rank and file of the 
enemy; how some inhabitants fled without even a change of cloth- 
ing; how valuable libraries were "wantonly destroyed;" how 
"sailors amused themselves with ripping open beds and turning the 
feathers on to the mill while in motion. "° and how one young officer 
"went gunning," shooting all the sheep, pigs and fowl which he 
found on his ride of two or three miles above the river. 

Then, to stimulate Jennet's interest, Aunt 'Lizabeth would tell 
of the famous spinning party in Portland — one of the great events 
of her youth — which is thus recounted in Williamson's History of 
Maine : 

"In May, 1788, an hundred females among the best families, 
stirred by a spirit of emulation and benevolence, convened at the 
house of their minister in Portland and presented his wife with 236 
skeins of cotton and linen as the fruits of their afternoon's labor and 
skill, from the turn of only sixty wheels ; and in the evening, a large 
concourse assembling, was entertained with a concert of sacred 
music. ' ' 

Jennet was becoming fairly proficient as a "spinster," when, one 
morning, she took her wheel to the open door and began winding the 
yarn from the spindle upon the reel, keeping time to the old lines : 

"There's four, 
There ain't four; 
There will be four; 
By and by." 

As she stood there in her blue cotton gown, with the freshness 
of the June day glowing in her cheeks and shining in her eyes, while 
the sun turned her brown hair to threads of tawny gold, a young man 
approached — Boyd Cochran, yeoman, as he is designated in sundry 
papers executed when Belfast was "in the County of Hancock and 
Commonwealth of Massachusetts," and attested in the delicate chi- 
rography of 



dTlalS^ ^^!^'^^^^yi^ 



or the rugged characters of 



He was one of the neighbors to whom Jennet had passed cake and 
wine on election day, and he paused "to pass the time o' daj'." That 
evening he remembered that Uncle Daniel was good authority on 

^Joseph Whipple in History of Acadie, Penobscot Bay and River, p. q". 



216 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

standing timber and he called 'round to ask his advice on an in- 
tended purchase. And Aunt 'Lizabeth smiled over her knitting. 

When he went home Boyd was vaguely thankful for some things 
which he had never consciously considered before ; as, that he owned 
the best sawmill on the river; that his father, John Cochran, had de- 
voutly, "in the Name of God, Amen," bequeathed to his children 
some excellent farming lands; most, of all, that his health and 
strength and unspoiled ardor made him the peer of younger men; 
for among the neighbors he had long been considered ' ' an old bach. ' ' 

So Jennet's romance began. 

In due time a letter announcing his safe arrival^ in Boston was 
received from Jennet's father. Aunt 'Lizabeth rejoiced at the news, 
but, withal, eyed the letter disapprovingly. "Two pieces!" said she. 
"Double postage! Wlien he might .just as well said all he had to 
say on one piece! But that's just like William." At this time the 
postage on a single piece of paper was twelve and one-half cents for 
a distance of one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty miles. 
Two pieces called for double postage ; and in Belfast in 1820 twenty- 
five cents would buy two pounds of butter or six pounds of beef. 
So Aunt Elizabeth's attitude was not so singular, after all. 



On this Fourth of July Belfast was as noisily patriotic as her 
limited public equipment would allow. The two field pieces were 
fired again and again, and the one church bell pealed forth jubilantly. 
A public dinner was served at the Sun Tavern (nobody said "Pump- 
kin Tavern" today in the face of the excellent repast provided by 
Landlord Cunningham) and it was largely attended. Jennet, in a 
gown of flowered silk, and a necklace that two grandmothers had 
worn before her, went as the guest of Cousin Harriet. There were 
toasts and speeches and at intervals patriotic selections were ren- 
dered by musicians stationed in the alcoves, one at either side of the 
great chimney, in the front parlor. The Hon. John Wilson presided 
at this dinner, and the toast he gave has been preserved to us : 

"Maine an independent State. May her Legislators possess the 
patriotism of Fox and the intelligence of Pitt ; her Judges, the science 
of Mansfield and decision of Holt; her Orators, the lightning of 
Cicero and the thunder of Demosthenes."^ 

Among Mr. Wilson's auditors were, in all likelihood, two future 
governors of Maine, — Hugh Johnston Anderson and William George 
Crosby. 

^"Those who go down to the sea in ships" were peculiarly subject to dis- 
comfort in earlier times. In the autumn of 1820 the "Superb," carrying twenty- 
one passengers from Belfast to Boston, was blown off her course and was not 
heard from for seventeen days. 

''Crosby's "Annals." 







Bohan P. Field Homestead, Built 1807 






The Loveliest Place in the \\\ lid 



A Glimpse of Belfast Under Maine's First Governor 217 

Two days after the dinner, when Uncle Daniel came home from 
"the village," he took from his pocket a newspaper and spread it 
ostentatiously upon the table. It was not such a very large paper. 
It measured, to be exact, eleven inches by seventeen inches.* But it 
filled a long-felt want with Uncle Daniel. "There!" said he, "we 
won 't have to be dependent on Bangor for our news now, and Belfast 
half as large again as Bangor^ a few years ago! Here is the first 
number of the 'Hancock Gazette,' published this sixth day of July, 
1820, by Ephraim Fellows and William R. Simpson — good luck to 
'em!" 

The family read every word of that paper, even to the advertise- 
ments; and as these last may be of interest to us we may look over 
Uncle Daniel's shoulder and learn that: H. J. Anderson advertises 
a supply of rum; J. S. Kimball offers ten hogsheads of New Eng- 
land Rum ; ^"Dudley Griffin, Tailor, directly opposite the Post-office, 
makes military uniforms; B. Whittier, Postmaster, publishes a list 
of forty-eight uncalled-for letters; Travellers are invited to call at 

the "Sign of the Sun." 

« * * 

On a midsummer afternoon Jennet was walking with Annis Coch- 
ran along the riverside, when suddenly Boj'd appeared beside them. 
"Do you think this valley is pretty?" 

"Yes, more than pretty — it's the loveliest place in the world," 
said Jennet. 

"I'm thinking of building a house right here," Boyd said, indi- 
cating a tiny plain behind which the ground rose in terraced hills to 
the north and west, while the winding river flowed placidly a few 
rods to the south. "I cal'late to start a crew on the cellar next 
week." 

So the work began, and soon Jennet had promised to live in the 
house when it was done. Aunt 'Lizabeth found her an apt pupil 
these days and the little wheel — for she was using the flax wheel now 
— twirled merrily. 

Annis Cochran took her brother to task for his haste in wooing ; 
"but," said he, with a humorous smile, "Jennet is of proper age, 
and no amount of waiting will make me any younger!" 

So the lovers, on pleasant evenings, walked to the valley to see 
how the work went on. Jennet watched the building of the arches, 

^It is pleasant to be able to record that with the fourteenth number the 
management felt justified in increasing these dimensions — by one inch. 

^According to the census of 1810 the population of Belfast was 1274, while 
that of Bangor was 850. 

lOAmong our forefathers the consumption of rum seems to have been both 
considerable and general. In Williamson's History of Belfast, Vol. 1, p. 751, 
is mentioned a bill for a pauper's funeral in which two items are: Coffin, $1 ; 
Rum, $4. 



218 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

each with its heavy keystone to bear the weight of the great chim- 
neys. All Boyd's plans Avere generous. There were to be six mam- 
moth fire-places and two brick ovens. 

And with shy delight Jennet watched the foundation grow. 

The best of timber was fitted for the frame — "For," said Boyd, 
"why shouldn't a man put good timber into his house when he has 
the pick of a woodlot and a sawmill of his own to boot ? ' ' And when 
everything was ready the men of the neighborhood gathered for the 
raising. The Cochrans kept open house that day. There was plent}^ 
to eat, and, of course, plenty to drink. Afterwards there were jokes 
and laughter and the master workman gave, in a sonorous voice, the 
sentiment of the company : 

"Here stands a fine frame on a pleasant spot. 
Bless the owner and all he's got. 
If he keeps on as he's begun, 
He'll be rich before he's done." 



In late September there was a notable funeral in the town — that 
of Mr. John Huse, late of "Huse's Tavern." Funerals in general 
did not appeal to Jennet; but they certainly did to many people of 
that day. Perhaps it was because there was a "social hour," so to 
speak, after the services, a time when scattered kinsfolk and neigh- 
bors might exchange greetings. This funeral was held in the meet- 
ing house and the bell was tolled, — not for the first time on such an 
occasion, but it was still a new feature. To please her aunt, then, 
Jennet went. The hymn sung^^ was the one perpetrated by Isaac 
Watts, beginning "Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound," — and, 
shuddering, Jennet slipped her little hand into Aunt 'Lizabeth's big, 
comfortable one for cheer. Other details of that funeral might be 
forgotten, but the hymn, never. 

The new house was not to be finished until spring and the wedding 
day was to be in early June. There was much to do. Jennet wanted 
to weave a counterpane of the "chariot wheel" design. Aunt 'Liz- 
abeth had one in white, and one in blue and white ; and she had offered 
to teach Jennet and to help in the work. For entertainment there 
were the singing school and the quiltings — the "thimble parties" of 
that day, differing from the ordinary modern affair in that husbands 
and lovers were usually invited to tea. Late in the winter there 
were skating and sleighing parties, for the bay was frozen over even 
to Castine. 

Through Cousin Harriet's connection with the "Belfast Social 
Library Society," too. Jennet had access to books other than those 
found in Uncle Daniel's modest library. The books of the "Belfast 

i^Crosby's "Annals." 



A Glimpse of Belfast Under Maine's First Governor 219 

Social Library" were intended for use, as evidenced by the stout 
covers placed upon them.^^ 

In the early winter a fire broke out on Main Street, but "the 
weather being calm, and the town pump in good order," only two 
buildings were burned. A "bucket brigade" in which women took 
places in the line, did good service at this fire. Shortly after, a 
"Fire Club" was formed which admitted to membership every citi- 
zen "who shall furnish himself with two good substantial leather 
buckets, twelve inches in length and eight inches in diameter, marked 
with his name ; and a good substantial bag, four feet in length and 
two feet three inches in breadth, marked with his name." But the 
name, however plainly written, would not always protect the bucket. 
On one occasion a respected "Fire ward," Peter Rowe, saw an un- 
lettered citizen of the suburbs making off with his buckets. "Hold 
on, there," said he, laying hands on the man, whom for convenience 
we will call John Smith, "those are my buckets." 

"No, they ain't," said Smith; "they're my buckets." 

"But here are my letters," insisted the "Fire ward." "P for 
Peter, and R for Rowe; Peter Rowe." 

"Yes, there's P for John and R for Smith. Them's my buckets, 
Peter Rowe." 

But Rowe got his buckets. ^^ 

« * * 

In late March, when the breath of spring was in the air and the 
sun set in a glory of gold and crimson, Boyd and Jennet walked 
along the valley to look at the new house. They loitered so long that 
the stars were out, filling the sky with a radiance even lovelier than 
that of the sunset, when they took their way homeward. 

Suddenly Jennet said, with her provoking smile: "After we have 
lived in the new house a very long time will we, perhaps, go to dif- 
ferent churches?" 

And her lover replied, with perfect sincerity, "You are my re- 
ligion, Jennet." 

Next day Boyd went far into the country to look at a lumber lot. 
The trip that was to take three of four days consumed more than a 
week. It was late in the night when he came again into the familiar 
neighborhood and looking toward Jennet's home he could see a light 
showing dimly. 

"What are they up at this time for?" he thought, uneasily. At 
his own home, too, a light was burning. As his steps sounded on 
the door stone, Annis came to meet him, her face the picture of grief. 
There was no need to say that Jennet was dead. He knew it. He 

i^Among the first charges of the librarian are : Paid Wm. Dunham for 
two sheepskins for covers, $i.oo. — IVilliamson's History of Belfast. 

i^These buckets marked P. R. were, a few years ago, and probably stil! 
are, in the possession of Mr. Edward R. Pierce of Belfast. 



220 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

hardly noticed when some one told him that she died from congestion 
of the lungs and that the doctors had done all that could be done to 
save her. His love dream had come late in life, gaining intensity, 
perhaps, by the way, — and this was the end. 

Later the new house was finished, finished modestly, as became a 
house whose owner was bankrupt in heart and purse ; and Boyd and 
Annis Cochran lived their lives there — "an old man and an old maid ; 
two weaknesses supporting each other." Later, after they had been 
carried to the graveyard on the hill that had been a part of their 
patrimony, others of their blood lived in the house, and there came 
little children who loved the fields and the river. 



In the streets where, in the days of the first governor, patient 
oxen drew heavy loads and the chaise marked the progress of gentil- 
ity, now auto trucks are seen and touring cars speed their joyful 
way. In the harbor the steamship and the motor boat have taken the 
place of the "Superb" and all her kind. But a few of the old 
houses, still centers of delightful hospitality, remain; and many a 
wanderer, Belfast born, echoes the words written by Mrs. Rebecca 
Palfrey Utter, twenty years ago : 

' ' One playmate I should find unchanged to-day. 
The never-resting waters of the bay. 
'Time writes no wrinkles on its azure brow;' 
In the cold moonlight it is sparkling now." 



SOME HAUNTED HOUSES AND THEIR GHOSTS 



Some Haunted Houses and Their Ghosts 

By ANNIE M. L. HAWES 




T IS IN the seaports of Maine, in the towns and villages 
that cluster about the curves of her broad bays, or 
stretch along the shores of her great tide water rivers 
that the most of her romances lie. Even in these places 
colonial houses are rare, and because Kittery, on the 
main shore of the beautiful Piscataqua, can boast of 
several in a distance of half a mile along a country 
road, the picturesque old town is dearly loved by the dreamer over 
New England romance and tradition. 

The Bray house, the oldest of these ancient landmarks, has been 
standing on the shores of Pepperrell Cove more than two hundred 
years, long before "the cove" received its name. It is a plain, un- 
painted two-story house with nothing in its exterior to tell its story to 
the passer-by. Master Bray, the builder and first owner of the 
house, came to America from Plymouth, the old Devonshire port of 
England, where he had been a boat-builder. He must have grown up 
with a head full of the New World, for Drake, Raleigh and Gilbert, 
and Sir Francis Champernowne, one of the first settlers in Kittery, 
were all Devonshire men, and Plymouth was the port whence they 
sailed and to which the first two brought back their spoils. 

There were plenty of old salts sitting about Plymouth docks when 
Bray was a youngster, telling how Elizabeth's fleet sailed away from 
the harbor to battle with Philip's Armada, of the daring Drake danc- 
ing off in his ship to capture Spanish galleons and bring home great 
emeralds and diamonds for the Queen's crown. They would remem- 
ber, too, the little vessel in which 

"Eastward from Campobello 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;" 

but most of all they must have talked of Raleigh, that other gallant 
young adventurer whom both men and women worshipped, and how 
he came back to Plymouth from his last voyage, old and broken, to 
the reward of his king — the block. 

Perhaps it was Sir Walter's fate that embittered Plymouth 
against a crown. At anj^ rate Charles found no help in Plymouth 
a generation later. Bray must have been a young man when the 
English block was stained by the King's blood, but he, too, was a 
Puritan. His trade must have been good in Plymouth, and I like to 



224 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

think of his boats floating out on the Hamoaze and the Catvvater as 
those he afterward made in Kittery rode the waters of Pepperrell 
cove and Brave Boat harbor, but Indians are sometimes more sat- 
isfactory foes than bishops and kings, and when the next Charles 
came to his father's throne, John Bray sailed for America. 

Perhaps he hoped to make a fortune in the New World and go 
back to England. Perhaps Goodwife Bray died, still longing for 
her old neighbors and friends. At least it is certain Master Bray 
owned a house in Plymouth when he died, and was buried (nobody 
knows where) in the scanty soil of an unhallowed Kittery field in- 
stead of a deep-bosomeci, yew-shaded Devonshire churchyard. 

A part of his Kittery house is unchanged. The tiny panes of 
iridescent glass, like those in the windows of some of the old houses 
in Boston's Beacon street, still twinkle in their mountings, and the 
buffet where Mistress Bray proudly displayed her "best dishes" is 
carefully preserved in a corner of the parlor. There is a curious 
figure painted on the inside of the buffet door — a cherubic creation 
consisting of head and wings, and much resembling those indescrib- 
able monsters by which early art-murderers in America disfigured 
the gravestones of their defenceless dead. This decoration antedates 
"the oldest inhabitant" and its origin remains a mystery. Possibly 
the Bray girls ' ' hand-painted. ' ' 

* * * 

The house was divided among three owners at Master Bray's 
death. His will, dated January 22d, 1689, gave "Unto my loving 
wife Joan Bray the new end of my now Dwelling house in Kittery 
during the terme of her naturall life ; ' ' the middle of the house was 
bequeathed to "my sone John;" while Mary, a daughter unmarried 
at her father's death, had "the leanto and the chamber over it," and 
"the East room and as much of the chamber as is over that." The 
Brays were evidently an amiable family, or the head of the house 
would not have risked dividing one dwelling in three, and especially 
he would have avoided so delicate a division as we may guess was 
made from the wording of the will regarding the chamber over the 
east room. These boundaries are now lost, for the house originally ran 
back toward what is now the street, with a long roof sloping nearly 
to the ground. Perhaps this was "the leanto." 

Boats, cattle and land were also apportioned to Mistress Bray and 
her children, showing that Master Bray must have gathered much 
substance by his trade, and indeed the family had thought their Mar- 
gery, who was but an infant when they left old Plymouth in 1660, 
quite too good for everybody and anybody to come acourting. 

This damsel grew up amid the hardships of early colonial life 
and the terrors of Indian w^arfare, for Philip's war waged during her 
young womanhood, and the Indians had an annoying habit of taking 
prisoners in such towns as Portland and Saeo for long years after. 




ei 



'■^' 






^ib*.. %i '^j_ 













Some Haunted Houses and Their Ghosts 225 

She was a very religious young person and as beautiful as she was 
good, seen through the mists of tradition. She was doubtless 
brought up "to reade, sew and knit with a reasonable measure of 
Catechism;" as is set forth in the indenture papers of one Raehell 
Palmer, who about this time was bound out, the tiny maid being then 
''three years and three-quarters ould." 

Margery's obituary notice — she died at 89 — says she was noted 
for her charity, her courteous affability, her prudence, meekness, 
patience, and her unweariedness in well doing." Everything goes 
to show her to have been the flower of the family, and as there has 
never been anything so attractive to a young man as a beautiful and 
good young woman, it is no wonder if the sailor lads of Piscataqua 
and the Shoals were madly in love with this wild rose of Kittery. 

In 1676 (one hundred years before the Revolution!) Joseph 
Pearce of Kittery made a verbal will, stating that after "all his debts 
was payed that ye remainder of his estate hee freely gave unto Mar- 
gery Bray, daughter to John Bray of Kittery, shippwright," and 
further "begging very Earnestly of this Deponet that hee would not 
forget it, that shee might not bee cheated of it!" 

Joseph Pearce 's relation to Margery is uncertain. It has been 
believed that he was a brother of Mrs. Bray, but he may have been 
only a neighbor who loved Margery, for we have evidence that lovers 
were not unmindful of the worldly estates of their choice in those 
days, as witness the forecasting of James Henry Fite. He made 
formal deposition before witnesses that if he should die suddenly ' ' he 
gave unto his Girl, Innet McCulland, all the estate he had." 

James Henry's prudence was justified by the event. He was soon 
afterward killed by Indians, and Pearce, being a sailor, probably had 
reflected on the uncertainty of human life and made his will before 
starting away on a voyage. It is worthy of note that neither Fite 
nor Pearce restricted their legatees to "the use and enjoyment" of 
their property, as did many a husband of Kittery in making his will 
by the phrase "soe long as she shall remain my widow." 

The only Joseph Pearce who appears in history is Ellner Pearce 's 
son to whom she gave by will, in 1675, a year before the deposition in 
favor of Margery was made, a house, land, cattle, "too featherbeds, 
too Hollande pillows, foure pewter platters of the biggest sort, too 
small basons, a candle stick and sault seller, one dripin pane, one gred- 
iron, one spitt with andirons and pott hangers," with "Meale ciues, 
silver spoones, Napkines, a warmeing pann, " and other household 
furnishings, not to mention "a gould ring." But if this Joseph 
Pearce was the one who willed his goods to Margery, she evidently 
got neither the gold ring, the "halfe pint pott," "the beare bowl," 
the "Siluer Cupp," "silke Twilt," "Holland pillow beare," nor yet 
the "two skelletts" mentioned in Ellner Pearce 's last testament, for 
years afterward when her husband sued in her name for an estate 



226 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

willed to her (and which I choose to think Pearce's) the case was 
given to the defendant, the costs of court being eight shillings and 
six-pence. 

So whether pretty Margery was "cheated of it," or whether 
Pearce was so sad a rollicker little was left after "his debts was 
payd" is not known. Is it a slander to think the latter, since, al- 
though Joseph's mother made him her executor, she also "did ap- 
poynt my loveing frejnd Mr. ffran^ Hooke to take care yt my sonn 
do not waste or Imbessell the sd Estate." And it is the easier to 
believe that Joseph's heart and soul were not given to the accumula- 
tion of pence, from the fact that a man bearing his name had been 
obliged to leave his gun with John Bray as security for debt some- 
time before this. 

However, the Brays were well enough provided with this world's 
goods, and although Mrs. Bray seems to have been obliged to make 
her mark as a M^tness to Eliner Pearce's will, it was a fashion of the 
times, and none the less did the family look askance at a certain 
young Bill (or Boll as it is said his Welsh tongue made it) Pepper- 
rell, who came over to consult Master Bray about boats much of tener 
than it seemed necessary, and when he made a formal proposal for 
Margery's hand, they put him off with the excuse that she was too 
young to wed. But William Pepperrell, the first, was no more 
daunted by the barriers of family pride, than was William the second 
by Duchambon's defenses at Louisburg. He left the unsavory 
Shoals (once forbidden by law as a residence for women or swine!) 
and came to Kittery Point. He showed himself a man of thrift and 
enterprise, time was in his favor, and when Margery was twenty years 
old, the Brays gave consent to the wedding, Master Bra}' giving his 
"sonn in law for euer, one Acre of Land" . . . "to begin fromy^ 
Wharf at y*^ water side, giveing lyberty if y"" bee Occasion to make 
uss of y^ Wharff, and so to runne backe leaueing the bujlding Yard, 
& to runne backe to y^ highway, to a plajne place, neare the highway 
to place his house & so from y'^ house backward to y*' Northwards till 
y'' acre of Land bee accomplished. ' ' 

* * * 

To this acre Pepperrell and his sons added until their acres 
were numbered by the thousands and extended about them for 
many miles. In 1695 Pepperrell was a justice of the peace, 
signing himself "William Peprell Justes pes." In 1695-6 his signa- 
ture is "Wm. Pepperel Is pece," and in 1698, when his illustrious 
son was two years old, it appears as " Wm. Pepperrell, Justis pease." 

The Pepperrell house owes its fame to the fact that the second 
William Pepperrell, the hero of Louisburg, where he won his spurs 
and title fighting under the motto of the enthusiastic young White- 
field, "Nil Desperadum Christo duce," was born, lived and died 



Some Haunted Houses and Their Ghosts 227 

within its walls. The house built by the elder Pepperrell was about 
thirty-seven feet square, says tradition. The younger man enlarged 
it, and both families lived in it until the father and mother died in 
1734 and 1741. 

The house was shorn of its proportions long since, ten or twelve 
feet having been cut from either end, and there is little left to hint 
at its former grandeur, besides the grand hall into which the country 
neighbors used to say "you can drive a cart and oxen." The hall 
extends through the middle of the house and is about fourteen feet 
wide, finished in wood from top to bottom. The staircase is de- 
lightfully broad and easy and half way up is a landing ten or twelve 
feet square. An arched window on this landing has cherubs' heads 
carved on the two upper corners — grave stone cherubs, like the 
creature on the door of the Bray buffet. 

Sir William was an exact man, and his papers which might be 
likened to the leaves of the forest for multitude, were scattered far 
and wide after his death. His face (Mr. Parkman calls it a good 
bourgeois face, not without dignity, though with no suggestion of 
the soldier), is tolerably familiar through the portrait at Salem, 
Mass., painted in 1751, in London, and the copy at the state house in 
Augusta. 

Other men than Sir William have suffered defeat in their at- 
tempts to found a family, but somehow one has a particularly tender 
feeling for the luckless old baronet of Avhom history has only good 
to tell, when one reads his will, and never do the words of the 
preacher, "Vanity of vanities," rise more to the lips. His relatives 
evidently fattened on his prosperity, for to many of his kinsfolks he 
gives at his death the money they owe him — if they be already dead ! 
But ! if they are still in the body, and where a hand can be laid on 
them he is not always so lenient, and one of them is forgiven half 
his debt only, and that on condition that he pay the other half within 
two years to certain other relatives. The Baronet was a shrewd man, 
and no doubt he had bought a part of his wisdom in money mat- 
ters with kinspeople by sore and repeated punishments. 

His only son, Andrew, was unhappy in his love affairs. There 
were rumors of a match between him and Mary, the daughter of Rev. 
Benjamin Stevens, who lived in the Congregationalist parsonage at 
Kittery Point from 1741 to 1791, and was an intimate friend of the 
Baronet, but Mary married another, and when Andrew, after many 
delays, went to Boston to marry Hannah Waldo, the Boston beauty 
refused to allow the ceremony to go on. Doubtless she had heard of 
Mary Stevens, and chose her own time to punish young Pepperrell 
for his procrastination. Six weeks afterward Miss Waldo became 
Mrs. Thomas Fluker, and their daughter, "the lovely Lucj'," married 
Henry Knox, once the handsome Boston bookseller, afterward Wash- 
ington's loved comrade in arms, and, still later, the magnate of 



228 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Thomaston, in the Maine Waldo patent. Mrs. Knox is said to have 
been "a Tartar," a disposition, we may guess, inherited from the 
Waldo side of the family. 

Andrew died not long after his rejection by Miss Waldo, and his 
house on which his father had spent ten thousand pounds, has dis- 
appeared. It was used as a barrack during the Revolution, so the 
story runs, and was so injured it blew down in a great gale. An- 
other legend says it was burned. 

After Andrew's death, Sir William's hopes turned to his young 
grandsons — the children of his daughter, Elizabeth Sparhawk. He 
does not seem to have been fond of his son-in-law, Colonel Spar- 
hawk. The Colonel importuned him for private spoils while he was 
risking his life at Louisbourg, and it was vexatious to be teased for 
silver sets and hogsheads of wine by one sitting comfortably at home, 
while he with his bare-foot, ragged men, stood face to face with death. 
There is a significant clause in the Baronet 's will. He there forgave 
Sparhawk ''all the debt he owetli me," after which perhaps no more 
need be said of the relations of this much tried gentleman and his 
son-in-law. 

Sir William made every provision for the continuance of his 
name, arranging for its adoption by one and another of the four 
Sparhawk boys, or the little Mary Pepperrell Sparhawk, and in case 
they all died without issue, bequeathing it to more distant con- 
nections, but the grandson who became William Pepperrell, and for 
whom the title which expired at the Baronet's death was revived, 
went to England during the Revolution, the family estates were con- 
fiscated, and the family name lost. One or two of the fifty portraits 
of relatives and friends that once hung in Sir William's hall are in 
the Atheneum in Portsmouth, but the plate presented him in London 
while he was abroad after the fall of Louisbourg, went to England ; 
this with his swords, gold watch, "Cloathing and armor and Gold 
Rings" as well as the "Diamond Ring in my Chest in Boston" all 
having gone to the Sparhawk children, none of whom seem to have 
inherited the grandfather's best qualities. 

There is a pretty story told of Mary. It is said that Mowatt went 
into Portsmouth harbor in 1775 with the intention of burning the 
town, but being entertained by the Sparhawks, and charmed with 
Mary, he spared Portsmouth and sailed away to wreck his vengeance 
on Portland, instead. 

Sir William, with his English traditions strong upon him, left 
money for the maintenance of a free school at Kittery Point, to be 
under the inspection of the Congregationalist minister of the parish ; 
part of the income of the estate, failing heirs, was to be used for the 
church, and the tomb built by him in 1736 was to have proper care. 
This is one of the saddest parts of the story. In long years of neg- 
lect the tomb door had given avv^ay and adventurous boys played 



Some Haunted Houses and Their Ghosts 229 

amoEg the bones inside. A man of Kittery has told me he well re- 
members counting the skulls lying about the room — there were twen- 
ty-nine. While half a dozen school boys were in the mouldy charnel 
house, it was the delight of a big boy to light a bit of candle, and, 
suddenly blowing it out, shriek in the darkness that instantly envel- 
oped the trembling urchins, "Old Pepperrell's coming — old Pep- 
perrell's coming!" Woe then to the boy who was slow of foot for 
none stayed on the order of his going, nor to lend a hand to his 
neighbor. 

The tomb is now closed and cared for, but after all the pomp of 
his life, Sir William is still denied a gravestone, not even has his 
name been added to the inscription on the tomb. Fate has been 
kinder to his tiny niece, Miriam Jackson. Her ugly little slate head- 
stone has stood close by the spot where the Pepperrells and Spar- 
hawks rest for more than one hundred and fifty years. Her life on 
earth was seventeen days. I have wondered if it was this little stone 
thrifty Sir William was bargaining for when he wrote to Boston for 
a tombstone, saying he would "not have it very costly," as being in 
a "country place it will not be much in view." 

The Baronet's father wuUed sixty "pounds in current money or 
Bills of Credit" to buy "Plate or Vessels for the Use" of the Kit- 
tery church, Sir William gave ten pounds sterling for the same pur- 
pose, and communicants in the little church at Kittery Point (it has 
but four male members) sip their sacramental wine and take their 
sacramental bread from solid silver, something rarely done in Maine. 
Sir William's money was devoted to the purchase of an armsplate, 
bearing his coat-of-arms, and an inscription embracing all his titles. 
The christening cup, modestly marked "The gift of an unknown 
hand," is supposed to have been given by Lady Pepperrell. 

Both the Pepperrell and Bray houses face the water. The street 
laid out years after they were built, passes under what were origi- 
nally the back windows. It is said Sir William could mount his horse 
at his door and ride to Saco, without leaving his own land, and this is 
to be borne in mind while visiting the house he built for Mrs. Spar- 
hawk when she married at nineteen. 

* * * 

There was a clergyman away off in the Roger Williams Planta- 
tions who died, leaving a widow and two little boys. Young Mrs. 
Sparhawk, the widow, married Col. Waldo, and came to live in Bos- 
ton. One of the boys, John, adopted his father's profession and lived 
in Salem, the other, Nathaniel, became Sir William's importunate 
son-in-law, and it was his step-father's granddaughter who refused to 
marry his brother-in-law, Andrew Pepperrell. Mrs. Waldo made her 
will in Kittery in 1749, giving Col. Sparhawk, beside his half of her 
property, "all the plate of which I shall die possessed or shall not 
have disposed of and delivered in my life time to those to whom the 



230 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

same may be conveyed. And in case the Plate hereby given to my 
Said Son Nathaniel shall not be equal in value to that which my Said 
Son John has had afores*^, Nathaniel Shall have so much out of the 
rest of my Estate before Division as to make up that deficiency." 
Let us hope the Colonel was consoled by this will for his disapppoint- 
ment in regard to Louisbourg spoils, and that he ate and drank from 
silver the rest of his life. 

Mrs. Waldo divided her wardrobe between her two daughters-in- 
law, particularly mentioning a "suit of Masquerade Damask" for 
Mrs. Elizabeth, as she had already given Mrs. Jane a "suit of Silk 
Cloths," but to John's daughter she left one hundred pounds to be 
paid her when she should be twenty-one years old, or at her marriage, 
while no other grandchild is mentioned. John had named his 
daughter Priscilla, for his mother. "The Pepperrells could take 
care of the Sparhawk boys," doubtless good Mrs. Waldo said, no 
more seeing a generation into the future than do grandmothers of 
to-day. 

Colonel Sparhawk failed in business. Perhaps his neighbors suf- 
fered from his bad financial management. Perhaps they ate from 
pewter while he enjoyed silver. Perhaps he gave himself airs on 
account of his Boston connections, and his marriage with Sir 
William's daughter. It may have been not only from all these causes, 
but also because he was a Tory, that his memory is not revered in 
Kittery. The crest in his coat-of-arms is a sparrowhawk, and Kit- 
tery still tells of a lampoon one of his townsmen wrote after his death, 
on the Pepperrell tomb where the Colonel slept, regardless at last of 
plate : 

"Here lies the hawk, who, in his day, 
Made many a harmless bird his prey, 
But now he's dead and unlamented. 
Heaven be praised, we're all contented!" 

A letter written by Sir William to order some of his daughter's 
"things" at the time of her marriage, has been preserved. It is 
dated "Pascataway in New England, Oct. 14th, 1741" (she was mar- 
ried the next May), and asks to have sent from England, "Silk to 
make a woman a full suit of clothes, the ground to be white padusoy 
and flowered with all sorts of flowers suitable for a young woman — 
another of white watered Taby, and Gold Lace for trimming of it; 
twelve yards of Green Padusoy ; thirteen yards of lace for a woman 's 
headdress, two inches wide, as can be bought for 13 s. per yard." 
He also ordered a handsome fan with leather mounting at twenty 
shillings, with two pairs of silk shoes, and "some cloggs" to be w^orn 
over them. 

Mrs. Sparhawk 's house is about half a mile distant from her 
father's toward Portsmouth, and an avenue of fine trees once led 
from one to the other. The long approach from the road to the Spar- 



Some Haunted Houses and Their Ghosts 231 

hawk house is still bordered by trees, but the dusty highway worn 
by common feet runs between the old knight's mansion and the beau- 
tiful home where Mrs. Sparhawk received the grand guests coming in 
their own coaches from Boston and Portsmouth for the three days' 
visit prescribed by the etiquette of the mother country. 

This home is still delightful. The front door keeps its iron 
knocker and the bull's eye glass gleams above it. The broad hall 
ends in an arch under which one passes into a rear hall where Col. 
Sparhawk 's leathern firebuckets still hang. Half way up the wide, 
easy stair-case is a landing on which a tall clock stands. A window 
on this landing opens on a broad stair in the back staircase. The 
upper half of the window opens, and the lower sash drops to a foot 
stool so that Mrs. Sparhawk 's silken shoes might trip over the sill 
when she chose to steal slyly down the back stairs to catch the maids 
flirting with the fishermen whose boats were drawn up on the shore 
of Spruce creek behind the house. 

From Mrs. Sparhawk 's window she looked across to the Pep- 
perrell dower house, built for Lady Pepperrell after her husband's 
death. It is not as elegant as the Sparhawk house, but it is hand- 
some and well-built; the floors are to-day the admiration of car- 
penters, while the staircase is not often equalled for width and ease 
of ascent. Halfway up is the landing, but here a door opens on the 
back stairs. One can fancy Mrs. Sparhawk advising her mother as 
to the advantage of a regular door instead of a window and a foot- 
stool, the one being troublesome to drop and the other liable to be 
misplaced by some mischievous maid who had her own reasons for 
delaying the mistress's coming; and then there was always the dan- 
ger of catching one's slipper heel in the sill. The different parts of 
these houses, the furniture in them and the paper on the walls is 
supposed to have been made in England and brought to the "prov- 
ince of Mayn" in the Pepperrell ships. 

About the beginning of the present century Capt. Cutts, a rich 
ship master and owner, bought the Lady Pepperrell place and it is 
better known in Kittery as the Cutts house. Mrs. Cutts was a 
Chauncey, a descendant of Chauncey de Chauncey who crossed the 
channel with the Conqueror, a man who knew where the roots of his 
genealogical tree were, two hundred years before the battle of Hast- 
ings. 

* * * 

Charles Chauncey, the first of the name in this country, was born 
in England in 1596 and bought a divinity degree at Cambridge 
thirty-two years later. But the young divine had the boldness of 
youth, and, being fired with the ardent desire to reform the w^orld, 
common to generous young minds, he dared to criticise Archbishop 
Laud openly, and such a course not being in conformity with the 
usages of the church, he was forced to apologize. Chauncey was a 
true Puritan, however. No sooner was the apology made than a ter- 



232 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

rible smiting of conscience ensued. Chauncey was troubled, this 
time, that he should ''have so demeaned himself before a fellow 
worm," and he sorrowed more deeply for the apology than for the 
act which had called it forth. There was nothing left but flight to 
America. He soon acquired here a title which Boston people doubt- 
less thought far more honorable than the prefix de — he became presi- 
dent of Harvard College, and Mrs. Cutis was descended from one of 
his six sons. 

Cutts is an old and honorable name in York county ; Capt. Cutts 
was rich, his wife a lady, they were blessed with several children, and 
life must have looked fair to them, but blood was shed freely on the 
seas in those days, and tradition says a dying man on one of Capt. 
Cutts' vessels cursed the Captain, praying with his last breath that 
none of the family might die pleasant or easy deaths. Whether the 
Captain laughed or trembled at the threat, certain it is the embargo 
soon blighted trade, ships rotted at the wharves, and Capt. Cutts' 
fortune vanished. 

Two or three children had died in infancy. Mrs. Cutts died in 
1812 — she was not a Cutts and the blight did not fall on her — but her 
unhappy husband lingered on until his ninety-eighth year. — almost 
half a century later — v/ithout having a lucid moment for years. One 
of the sons — a naval officer — shot himself as he lay on his bed in his 
father's house, another son lived a raving maniac for forty years, 
while Sally, the beautiful daughter, the darling of the family, is de- 
scribed most pathetically and lovingly as Miss Chauncey in Miss 
Jewett's ''Deephaven." Happily she never realized she ate the bread 
of charity. She knew they were "a little reduced," but she always 
spoke hopefully of the time when their wealth would be restored to 
them, and she was always and under all circumstances the true lady 
— a Chauncey of the Chauncey de Chaunceys. Upon the mantel in 
a chamber of her old house recently stood a map of the world which 
she drew at school. That part of the globe we call the Antarctic was 
marked "the South Icy ocean," and Australia bore the name New 
Holland. The lettering and drawing were perfectly legible though 
it must have been seventy-five years since Miss Cutts' little fingers 
held the pencil that traced the lines, and the gilt frame (it seemed to 
be made of plaster) was partially fallen away. 

Side by side on the mantel with this relic stood a cabinet photo- 
graph of two laughing children. I turned it over and read on the 
back "Dolly Varden Saloon, Minneapolis." The contrast was sharp. 
What had the dainty lady in whose house I felt myself an intruder 
though she had long since left it, to do with the pert young civiliza- 
tion of to-day? 

The story of the Cutts home has always seemed to me the most 
romantic and pathetic of all the tales told of the old Kittery houses. 
One flat stone serves as a monument for the whole family in the old 




The Governor Wentworth House 




First Congregational Parsonage at Kittery Point where 

Rev. Dr. Benjamin Stevens Resided 1741-1791 — 

showing Elm Tree Planted by him 



Some Haunted Houses and Their Ghosts 233 

graveyard a few steps from the house. Sarah Chauncey, born 1791, 
died 1874, is the last name on the stone, and underneath is the single 

line "The weary are at rest." 

* * * 

I shall always have an affection for another old Kittery house on 
account of a negress who lived in it. There were certain graves 
marked by common stones in the Pepperrell burial ground, guessed to 
be those of the negro servants, for though many negroes were held as 
slaves in Kittery, the graves of none of them are known. The owner- 
ship of the blacks in many cases was almost nominal, apparently. 
Sometimes they were given their freedom at the death of master or 
mistress, and in certain instances when the famil}^ was broken up, an 
old servant was made the care of the child with whom he or she 
chose to live. The elder Pepperrell mentions George, Scipio and 
Toby as slaves in his will, and Sir AVilliam directs that his wife have 
any four of the negroes she wishes after his death. 

But none of these have been as famous as Dinah, once an inhab- 
itant of Gerrish Island. The Gerrish house in which she lived (there 
are still one or two known by that name in the town) stood on the 
outer shore of the Island, looking away over a splendid reach of sea, 
straight out to where the Shoals lie, a faint speck on the horizon. It 
was burned long ago, and Dinah is remembered by her attempts to 
reduce it to ashes half a century or more before it was destroyed. 
Dinah was charged with a trick of baking cakes of the fine wheaten 
flour and inviting her friends to midnight lunches when her mistress 
was out of the way, but the first time fire was discovered the sin of 
incendiarism was not laid to her account. At another time, however, 
when Mistress Gerrish was in her chamber cuddling a new baby, a 
young man coming home late from courting Sunday night, saw the 
glare of fire through the windows. He gave the alarm, and as the 
hastily summoned men dashed about with fire buckets, he spied Dinah 
idly looking on, and with sudden instinct called out, "Dinah, you 
black witch, what have you been doing?" Dinah's reply was a 
burst of tears, and the cry, ' ' I wish to God they_'d all burnt up ! " 

The poor creature had a little son and in her ignorance she had 
fancied if she could destroy her owners, she and her child would be 
free. Alas for Dinah! Her master took her to York the morning 
after the fire and sold her and she died in the York poor house long 
ago at a very great age. 

This Gerrish house was probably standing in Sir William's time 
for Dinah's story was told me several years ago by a Mrs. Gerrish 
whose husband was the infant born about the time of Dinah's last 
trial for freedom by fire, and I remember Mrs. Gerrish said, "My 

husband would be just one hundred years old if he were living." 

* * * 

There are many more old houses near these I have mentioned. The 
quaint cottage once used as a Free Baptist parsonage, is more than a 
century old. In remodeling it lately the owner found a small brick 



234 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

in the filling under the hearth. It was marked in old-time figures, 
1564. 

Another brick of ordinary size in a demolished chimney was 
marked 1776, but whether these are dates, and the first a cousin to 
the thin yellow bricks that pave the streets of Holland villages, is by 
no means certain. Another Cutts house, said to be far older than the 
one described here, stands where "ffrancis Champernown, Gentle- 
men" once had his home. This house modernized is Celia Thaxter's 
summer home, and hard by is the grave of ''sweet Mary Chauncey," 
the subject of her poem "In Kittery Churchyard." 

A re-made blockhouse at the head of Fernald's Cove, opposite the 
navy yard, was the home of an ancestor of James Russell Lowell and 
the birthplace of William Whipple, who signed the Declaration of 
Independence. The ''Commodore Decatur" house still occupied by 
Decaturs, is a neighbor to the Sparhawk mansion. Across the bay at 
New Castle is an old, old house where one Allen, boatswain for John 
Paul Jones, is supposed to have lived, and not far away is the ram- 
bling, fifty-roomed caravansary with its 

"Doors opening into darkness unawares. 
Mysterious passages and flights of stairs," 

where the one time Martha Hilton and her aged co-partner, Benning 
Wentworth, reigned in the days of the Pepperrells, the Governor and 
the Baronet being, in the words of the country women, one year's 
children. 

In a secluded nook on the Kittery shore, away from the high road, 
an old house stands on its own decaying wharf, looking out past its 
ruined warehouses for the ships that will never come in. Twice a 
day, the eager tides rush up about the barnacled steps of its boat land- 
ing, questioning of the argosies that once lay waiting their service. 
Twice a day, bafiied and perplexed, they steal silently back, leaving 
long streamers of dulse and weed to dry in the sun and wind, as on 
shore only tattered shreds are left to hint of the full tide of riches 
that once flowed over the land. 

Inside this old house are stores of lovely garments of the last 
century, parchments bearing the seal of a king Charles or George, 
ancient pictures, furniture and china that would drive a bric-a-brac 
collector to despair, since he has no charm that can make them his. 
In Portsmouth, just across the river, the proprietor of a shop for 
"antiques" showed me a blue silk umbrella, heavy enough for a 
giant and big enough for a small family. He assured me it was the 
veritable umbrella that wandered so long up and down the Kit- 
tery lanes, with Sally Cutts. 



ROBERT ANDREWS, A HERO OF BUNKER HILL 



Robert Andrews 




A Hero of Bunker Hill 

By EVA L. SHOREY 

HE TIME was June 17, 1825, and the place Charlestown, 
Massachusetts. An immense throng had assembled to 
witness the laying of the corner stone of Bunker Hill 
monument and to enjoy the many features of this his- 
toric occasion. A distinguished guest was the friend 
of Washington, the beloved Gen. Lafayette, and fully 
as much honored by their countrymen were the two 
hundred Revolutionary veterans, forty of whom were survivors of 
the battle, many of them wearing their time-stained uniforms. The 
speaker was the great orator, Daniel Webster. The gay trappings of 
the military orders, the splendid regalia of the Masonic fraternity 
and the presence of the members of Bunker Hill Monument Asso- 
ciation, made a procession of great length and brilliancy. 

Following the impressive ceremony, the crowd moved to an 
amphitheatre on Breed's hill, where the oration was delivered, 
which has since become a classic: 

"Venerable men!" rang out the voice of the orator. 
"You have come down to us from a former generation. 
Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives that 
you might behold this joyous day. You are now where 
you stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with your 
brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in 
the strife for your country." 

Among the veterans who thrilled at these words was Robert 
Andrews, who had journeyed from his home in Bridgton, Maine, to 
be present on this memorable occasion. A young man of twenty- 
three, he had left his native town of Boxford, Mass., at the alarm 
of April 19, 1775, and had stood with the "embattled farmers" at 
Lexington and Concord. He was a private in Capt. William Pear- 
ley's company; was one of the brave defenders of his country at the 
battle of Bunker Hill. He was stationed at Ticonderoga. He was 
among those who suffered hunger, cold and nakedness during the 
bitter winter in camp. He served at different periods until Dec. 16, 
1780, when we find his discharge recorded. 

It was his privilege to be present at the celebration of the com- 
pletion of the monument, eighteen years later, and he is mentioned 
by Webster in that address. He was ninety-one years of age at the 
time. 



238 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

At the close of his service in the Revolution, Robert Andrews, 
filled with the spirit of adventure which his years in camp had stim- 
ulated, decided to join a party of men from his home town of Box- 
ford, which was going into the Maine wilderness to found homes in 
the new and but partially explored land. Some of his friends were 
interested in a tract of land which had been granted to them by the 
Legislature of Massachusetts, in place of certain territory granted to 
their ancestors for service under Sir William Phips in the so-called 
King "William's war of 1690. It was later found that the first grant 
was in the boundaries of New Hampshire, and so a township seven 
miles square, east of the Saco river, in the District of Maine, was sub- 
stituted. The owners were called proprietors, their agents being 
Benjamin Milliken, Thomas Perley and Moody Bridges. 

This township was first called Pondicherry, it is claimed on 
account of the great number of beautiful ponds within its boundaries 
and the numerous wild cherry trees, though some assert the name is 
of Indian origin. It was, apparently, too fanciful for the hardy 
pioneers, for later it was changed to Bridgton, in honor of Moody 
Bridges, one of the proprietors. 

The conditions of the grant were that a plan of the land should 
be returned to the secretary's office vv-ithin twelve months for con- 
firmation, and also that within six years they settle thirty families 
in this township, build a house of public worship, settle a Protestant 
minister and lay out one sixty-fourth part of the township, each, for 
the use of the first settled minister, the support of the ministry, and 
for Harvard College. They obtained the confirmation, the township 
being nine miles in length and six and a half in width, but eighty-two 
families were required instead of thirty, within the specified time. 

An interesting document is the journal, kept by Solomon Wood, 
of Boxford, who, with his assistants, ran out that part of the town- 
ship lying west of Long Pond, into lots of half a mile in length, and 
one hundred rods in width, containing one hundred acres each. 
Moody Bridges, Richard Peabody and Col. Thomas Poor accompanied 
the party, as a committee of the proprietors. The following are ex- 
tracts, given exactly as it was written. The reader must supply his 
own punctuation. 

"Monday, August ye 25, 1766, Set of to Newbury 
Port Lodged there. 

30. Saturday Set Sail ye 2nd time for Casco bey 
(their destination was Falmouth, now Portland) about 
7 o'clock in ye morning A fresh N. wind got Down 
within about 3 or 4 Leags of our port ye wind failed 
us. Lay all Night Rouling on the seas. 

Septemr. 1. Monday a cloudy morning and after- 
wards a Rainy Day got a teem to Carry us to goraham 



Robert Andrews, a Hero of Bunker Hill 239 

town for 45s got to conants about sundown Peabody and 

I lodg there ye Rest went with ye stores. 

2. Tuesday. Rise as soon as it was light went to 

Mr. Hamblens (probably near Little Falls on the Pre- 

sumpscott, 3 miles from Conant's) agreed with him to 

carry our stores to Sabaguck (Sebago) pond for £5 and 

4 Qr. of Rum got to Pond a bout 6 o'clock at Night 

with Part of stores. 

*********** 

4. Thursday I took ye Point from ye landing at 
Pearsontown to ye grate mountain which bears N 20 D. 

5. friday Set of with the Rest of the Stores and got 
part of them up the Ripples (in Songo river) into ye 
Little (Brandy pond) and campt till adams came with 
the rest at ye Ripples. 

6. Sat. got to west cove near the head of long pond 
Landed our stores sent 2 back for ye Rest of ye stores. 
Peabody and I Lodged at ye Camp. Killed Dear in 
long pond. 

7. Sunday we went to Pickwacet (Fryeburg) got 
there about 8 o'clock." 

Various incidents mentioned on different days are: "Indian dog 
came to camp." "chitch 14 14 of fish." "chased a Bear." "a 
good day Run 10 miles by the chain." "killed two Bares young 
ones — boath." "built a Burch camp." "We laid out without fire 
wood or Blankets got no cold." "this Night Dismist my hands and 
Left Surveying good weather, a grand frolick at Night." "Rode 
my horse." "Drank some flip with Mr. Bridges." 

The party arrived in Boxford Oct. 29. 

The explanatory notes are by Isaac Bassett Choate of Boston, whc 
published the journal some years ago. 

* * * 

Fourteen years later, when Robert Andrews and others came, 
they entered a practical wilderness, for while a few scattered families 
had located in different parts of the township at that time, but little 
progress had been made toward clearing the land. A trail had 
been "swamped out" through the woods between the township and 
Pearsontown, now Standish, where a fort was located, while a 
natural waterway route was provided by Sebago Lake, Songo River, 
and Long Pond. 

The farms were scattered over the various parts of the town- 
ship, but in the southern part was a group which might almost be 
called a neighborhood, though the farms were separated by several 
miles. 

It was in this group that Robert Andrews was located, his farm 
nearly surrounding Actams pond, with the exception of the land of 



240 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Daniel Perley, located on the heights toward the Center. We can 
imagine the keen pleasure of this young soldier as he arrived, either 
by way of Capt. Kimball's boat, or on horseback over the trail from 
Pearsontown, or possibly tramping in true soldier fashion from some 
landing on Long pond, with knapsack on his shoulder. The country 
through which he came must have reminded him somewhat of Box- 
ford, although he doubtless gazed in wonder at towering Mt. Wash- 
ington and the foot hills of the Presidential range. He chose his 
own farm near the picturesque pond, which should have been named 
Andrews, instead of Adams. The surrounding land rose to consid- 
erable height on all sides, although there were level places, where his 
fields were located later on. The memories of his part in the great 
struggle for liberty were fresh in his mind and he entered upon 
another struggle, this time to conquer the wilderness, build his little 
log cabin in which he lived alone, fell the great pine trees and clear 
the land for the fruitful farm which was to reward his faithful 
years of labor and industry, and which was to be passed on to other 
generations. 

Great forests must have covered the sloping hills, for even to this 
day there are beautiful pine groves along the shore, and trees of 
birch, maple, and other growth, which give to the country a gorgeous 
appearance in the fall and a delightful opening of leaf and bud in 
the springtime. In some places there are Lombardy poplars and 
English willows of great age. 

It has been stated that the Andrews farm covered 400 acres, but 
how near the correct figures these are, it is difficult to say. If one 
stands today on Parsonage hill and looks toward Adams pond, a great 
portion of the land which he can see, stretching to the right and to 
the left, was formerly a part of this estate. Today one looks upon 
the center of a thrifty village, with well tilled fields, attractive homes 
and winding roads, but in the early days it must have been largely 
primeval forest. 

At the time the First Parish church was formed, Enoch Perley 
and Robert Andrews each gave $1,000 toward its support. A proviso 
was inserted, which was not fully discussed at the time, that it revert 
to the church in the southern part of the town, should one be formed. 
One was organized in 1825, and Robert Andrews donated $1,000 to 
the First Parish to replace the amount of his first gift, and always 
retained his membership there. 

Fortunately there were forms of relaxation from the hard work 
incident to the farms, for we read of the formation of a militia com- 
pany. In this, Robert Andrews was particularly active, as were the 
other soldiers of the Revolution. The company was called the 
Bridgton Light Infantry and was organized in 1792. The Captain 
was Isaiah Ingalls; Lieut., Robert Andrews; Ensign, John Kilborn. 
Each officer took a long and complicated oath of allegiance to the 
Commonwealth of Massachusetts, renouncing and adjuring "all alle- 




Home of Moody Bridges, Noi-th Andover, Mass. 




Home of Lieutenant Robert Andrews, South Bridoton 



Robert Andrews, a Hero of Bunker Hill 241 

giance, subjection and obedience to the King, Queen or Government 
of Great Britain (as the ease may be), and every other Foreign 
power, whatsoever, and that no foreign prince, person, prelate, State 
or potentate hath or ought to have any jurisdiction, superiority, pre- 
eminence, authority dispensing or otiier power in any matters civil, 
ecclesiastical or spiritual within this Commonwealth." 

An important epoch in the town's history was its incorporation 
in 1794, there being 88 families and 471 inhabitants. Robert An- 
drews was first selectman, the others being James Flint and Joseph 
Sears. Isaiah Ingalls was town clerk; Phineas Ingalls, treasurer; 
Enoch Perley, moderator. At five difi:'erent times, Robert Andrews 
served as selectman, and as treasurer, three years. 

Only the public events of a man's life are inscribed on the records 
of the town, but there are other and fully as interesting facts, which 
can only be ascertained by talking with those who knew these early 
settlers, or who have heard from older people of the village life of 
that time. 

We find that after Robert Andrews had cleared portions of his 
land and commenced tilling the ground, he built a larger and more 
substantial house, on the heights overlooking the pond. We can 
imagine the excitement of the house raisings, as the different farmers 
did this very thing, and how they went from one new house to 
another and the festivities which followed. 

While Lieut. Andrews never married, his house was always filled 
with relatives, or whole families, or with young men who grew up 
under his care and worked on the farm. He did not have very 
good success in keeping the young women relatives who came to keep 
house for him, for the young men of the neighborhood soon claimed 
them as wives. His sister Ruth married Daniel Barnard, and 
another sister became the wife of Daniel Bradstreet, the maternal 
grandfather of "the Cleaves boys" — Thomas, Nathan, Henry, 
Robert — several of whom held positions of honor in State and Nation. 
A niece from Vermont, Rachel, who came to live with him, married 
Augustus Perley; while Abigail Gibbs, who lived at the Andrews 
home for a time, married Thomas Kimball. 

The old "lef tenant," as he was called, dearly loved to joke with 
the members of his household, and the story is told that when he 
came down one morning, suspecting that some of the boys of the 
neighborhood had been "courting," said, in a bantering manner: 

"Rachel, did you have a beau last night?" 

"No, sir," quickly responded Rachel, tossing her head. 

"Weel, " he said quizzically, "Weel, I wonder who did. It 
couldn't have been Abigail, now could it?" And Abigail blushed 
and ran away, because it was well known throughout the country- 
side that she did have a sure enough beau. 



242 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Life at the Andrews' home moved along very pleasantly. There 
was much to be done on the farm, while in the house the dairy work, 
the spinning and weaving, the baking and household duties, required 
much time. Some of the young men who came to live there were 
sent to Bridgton Academy, which opened in 1808, its first sessions 
being held in Masonic Hall, then in North Bridgton, and in 1827 
being removed to the Academy Building. 

The training ground was five acres, on the westerly side of the 
meeting house, five acres on the easterly side being used as the bury- 
ing ground. Evidently there was some opposition to this, for some 
time afterward, the action of the proprietors was reversed by the 
town, the burying ground being reduced in size to two acres, this be- 
ing the old village cemetery. 

The training field, with the exception of a sufficient amount for 
a road, was sold, together with the rest of the ministerial land. 
Later still, a part of the training field was repurchased by the town, 
and for many years was the scene of military displays attended by 
the settlers for miles around. The uniform of the members of this 
organization consisted of blue coats, with red facings, white breeches 

and cocked hats with white favors. 

* * * 

There was no resident physician until Dr. Samuel Farnsworth 
came in 1790, later followed by his son in 1816, Avho located at North 
Bridgton. Previous to the coming of Dr. Farnsworth, the nearest 
physician was in Standish. The story is told that one man, being 
sick, walked to Standish, got his prescription filled, and returned on 
foot, carrying a gallon of molasses and a bushel of salt. 

Among the men who began law practice in Bridgton in these 
early days and later became famous in State and Nation, were Hon. 
William Pitt Fessenden and Hon. Nathaniel S. Littlefield. The former 
rose to be the leading lawyer in the State and continued his brilliant 
career until he became leader in the United States Senate, refusing 
the highest seat in the Supreme Court. He was also Secretary of 
the Treasury. Mr. Littlefield practiced law in town for over fifty 
years, being president of the Maine Senate his second term, in 1839. 
lie was representative to Congress for Oxford District, 1840-41. and 
later for Cumberland District. Justice Sewell C. Strout of the Maine 
Supreme Court, also began his law practice in Bridgton. 

Bridgton was represented in the War of 1812 by twenty-one men, 
who were in Capt. Rufus ^rdntire's Co., 3d Regt. U. S. Artillery. 
This regiment participated in the battle of Plattsburg and witnessed 
Commodore Perry's brilliant victory on the lake. 

Of the fraternal orders. Oriental Lodge. F. & A. M., was organized 

in 1804, and Cumberland Lodge, I. 0. 0. F., in 1845. 

* * * 

It is impossible in an article of this length to mention all those 
who in the early days laid Bridgton 's foundations so firmly. Such 




The Chany Dishes " 



Robert Andrews, a Hero of Bunker Hill 243 

names as Abner and Nathan Dodge, Ebenezer Carsley, Ezra Gould, 
Jacob Hazen, Theodore and Alpheus Gibbs, William Morrison, Sam- 
uel Davis, Joseph Brocklebank, George Mead, John Chaplin, Daniel 
Brigham, William Bennett, Moses Gould, Horace Billings, William 
Cross, Rensaller Cram, and others, are known, even by the present 
generation. 

A most important event was the dedication of the new Town 
House, in January, 1852, an able historical address being delivered 
by Hon. Marshall Cram. The story of the development of the town 
since that date — the establishment of the three woolen mills, and 
other large industries, the first newspaper, the tragic days of the 
Civil War, the coming of the railroad, the steady increase in popula- 
tion and property, the great popularity as a summer resort — is a 
most important one in the history of Maine. 

* * * 

The town school system first consisted of four districts, Robert 
Andrews being a committee to build a schoolhouse in the southerly 
district. Later, in 1821, the school system was re-organized, forming 
eleven districts. It is interesting to note that in the winter of 
1806-7 attending school in district No. 1 there were twenty-seven 
scholars bearing the name of Ingalls, all of one generation, brothers, 
sisters and cousins. 

While Robert Andrews never married, he evidently wished to 
have his name perpetuated, for it was a standing offer that any boy, 
named for him, would receive a cow, in recognition of the fact. 
Naturally there were a good many whose famil}^ name was preceded 
by that of Robert Andrews. Some of these boys were relatives, as 
in the case of Robert Andrews Barnard and Robert Andrews Cleaves, 
but others were simply namesakes and some of the disagreeable 
people called them "cow-relations." One woman, who probably had 
only daughters, derisively said: "Why not call them 'Cow' and be 
done with it!" 

But as the boys grew up, they were very proud of their Andrews 
cow, and also fond of the giver, and perhaps the old gentleman 
solved the problem of "keeping the boys on the farm." It has been 
said that he gave the girl babies a sheep, but this is probably only 
rumor. 

Lieut. Andrews bought and sold a great deal of timberland, and 
of course many deeds were signed by him. Mrs. Fannie B. Ingalls, 
of South Bridgton, a descendant of the Daniel Perley family, found 
among some old papers, his signature, which is reproduced here. 
Those who read the character of a man by his handwriting, can study 
the firm letters, written by Robert Andrews over one hundred years 
ago: 



<^^<rdtMfi^'^X>^'^ 



244 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Mrs. Ingalls also has the Ingalls Journal, a most valuable historic 
book, kept by Dr. Theodore Ingalls. Dr. Ingalls, son of Phineas 
Ingalls, located in South Bridgton in 1817. 

* * * 

It is seventy-one years since the old Lieutenant died and in that 
time nearly all those who knew him have passed on. While various 
facts and some anecdotes have been handed down, only two people 
could be found in Bridgton, in the spring of 1916, who remembered 
him. One was Mrs. Ann Davis, widow of Marshall Davis, the old- 
time landlord of the Bridgton House. Mrs. Davis, when a child, 
resided with her relatives, the family of Hugh Bennett, at the home 
of Robert Andrews. 

The writer found Mrs. Davis at her North High Street home, sit- 
ting by her accustomed sunny window, in an easy chair, with her 
ever-present patchwork. 

"Did you know Lieut. Andrews?" was the question. 

A pleasant smile and a reminiscent look came to her face. 

"Yes, indeed I did. I can see him now, going across from the 
house to the barn his cane in his hand. He always loved to go into 
the barn and look at the cattle and overhanging haymows. He talked 
with the men a good deal. He was rather short in stature, but verj^ 
erect, with gray hair when I knew him and slightly bald. But he 
had a cheerful, pleasant face, somewhat ruddy, and his eyes always 
had a twinkle in them. 

"I used to ride with him quite often, up to the village church, for 
he always went there, even after the one was formed at South Bridg- 
ton. He was always joking with me and called me 'liuthy, ' which I 
guess was a favorite name with him, for he had a sister and a niece 
named Ruth. My name is Ruthana, you know. 

"He had many queer notions and one was that he liked to sleep 
in a bunk. Even in the new house he had a bunk built, instead of 
having a bedstead. The bunk was kept at the house for years after 
he died, but I guess has been destroyed by this time. 

"He always sold a lot of corn to the farmers and I remember one 
man who came for some, and while the Lieutenant, or Uncle An- 
drews, as some called him, was measuring it out, the man stamped on 
the floor, so the corn would settle down and he would get more. 
That made the old gentleman so mad that he drove him off and never 
would sell him any corn again. He was very kind and benevolent 
and gave away a great deal. Yes, I can see him now," added Mrs. 
Davis, as she looked down the long years since she was a little girl. 

The other person who remembered Lieut. Andrews was Mrs. 
Amelia Knapp Berry and she told the writer about him as we had 
tea together in the old Peabody house, which is now owned and occu- 
pied by her son and family. 



Robert Andrews, a Hero of Bunker Hill 245 

**It was my fourth birthday," she began — and she was eighty-five 
when we talked, "and I was very proud of the fact. I was walking 
up the road, when I met Lieut. Andrews. He said: 'Good morning, 
little girl,' and I answered: 'Howdy do, sir,' adding, 'it's my birth- 
day' 'Oh, is that so?' said the Lieutenant with a laugh. 'That's 
funny, for it's mine, too.' It was his birthday, for it was October 5. 
'Let's go up to the house and see if we can't find something for a 
present.' 

"I tied my bonnet on and he took my hand in his and off we 
went. I had to run to keep up with him for he walked so fast. 
Pretty soon we got to his house and he went in a little room where 
he used to keep things to give away and came out with a bolt of 
cloth. 

" 'Go and ask Mrs. Cleaves how much you need for a dress.' The 
Cleaves family lived in one part of the house, later moving to Hio. 
This was the Judge Nathan and Gov. Henry B. Cleaves family. She 
told him and he measured it off and gave it to me. I thought it was 
the prettiest cloth I ever saw and I can see it yet, white ground, with 
a pink flower and a sprig of green. You better believe I was proud 
of that dress. 

"He used to tell the children stories about the battle of Bunker 
Hill. I remember he would say: 'We worked all night putting up 
entrenchments. Then in the morning the firing began. We walked 
up the hill, fired, whirled and went back again, loading our guns as 
we went.' He liked to talk about the war and we loved to listen. 

" 'Rot it all' was his favorite swear word and sometimes he used 
it with a good deal of emphasis, although he was usually jolly and 
ready for fun. One of the boys who was hoeing for him got rum- 
maging up in the attic and found the old Lieutenant's uniform. He 
dressed up in it and came down and paraded in front of the house, 
much to the amusement of all, even of the Lieutenant. After a while 
Mr. Andrews shouted: 'You better take off your regimentals and go 
to work.' 

"The house had a long hall, with a kitchen and pantry at one 
side. There was a great chimney, which had five fireplaces in it and 
a brick oven. I remember when they tore it down. The house was 
later made into two parts, the Lieutenant living in the left hand end. 
It is now occupied by Frank A. Moulton and George Haley. 

"Mr. Andrews always had a grand dinner party in the fall, after 
he killed his hogs, and invited the minister and wife, the doctor and 
wife, my father and mother. He had a very choice set of pink lustre 
dishes and he used to say to his niece: 'Ruth, put on the chany 
dishes,' which she did and they had the most good things to eat, 
baked in the brick oven, while the sparerib was roasted before the 
open fire, with a spoon hanging by to baste it with. That dinner was 
a yearly event, eagerly looked forward to, and the Lieutenant loved 



246 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

to play the host, his small, erect figure and his glowing face making 
a picture which few forgot, while his jovial air and funny stories, 
told in his quick, original way, kept them all laughing. 

"He had a fine farm and raised everything on it for his stock, of 
which he kept a large amount. He had cows, pigs, sheep, turkeys, 
hens, and they were always fine specimens. He said you could make 
money keeping pigs if you didn't get more than 4 pence a pound. 
That's 6} cents, you know. He always charged $1.00 a bushel for 
corn, no matter what the market price was and he always put his cat- 
tle out to pasture on a certain date in the spring, no matter what the 
weather might be. The Andrews cheese was noted far and wide, 
round in shape, and as big as a half bushel. He always gave one to 
the minister. 

"Another of the Lieutenant's queer ways was to have some ban- 
nock cooked, which he would crumb into a tin dish, then take it out 
in the barn and hold it under the cow while he milked into it. Then 
he would come in and sit by the table in the kitchen while he ate it. 
They had a large pewter platter which they put the hash on and 
divided it into portions, then each one would eat from the platter. ' ' 

Thomas B. Knapp, for many years prominent in the life of the 
town, who was born the year Lieut. Andrews died, remembers hearing 
many stories of the old gentleman. Among others was one of 
Ebenezer Choate, who bought a cow of Lieut. Andrews, giving him 
his note for it. He lived in Naples and took the cow home with him. 
In the winter, before he had paid the note, the cow died. Early one 
morning Mr. Choate started on foot, going the distance of five miles 
to tell the Lieutenant the sad news, but to assure him he would pay 
the note just the same. After talking the matter over, the Lieuten- 
ant said: 

"Weel, Mr. Choate, I suppose you better take another cow, for 
the one you had would probably have died just the same if I had 
kept her." 

The result was that Mr. Choate returned home, leading another 
cow. 

The "chany teaset" was given to his "nephew, Robert Barnard," 
and the remaining pieces of the pink lustre set are owned by Ruth 
Barnard Sanborn, some being shown in the picture. The old table, 
at which the Lieutenant sat to eat his bannock, is also owned by the 
Barnard family. 

Robert Andrews was the money lender of the town and whenever 
he had any on hand had a peculiar way of wearing his hat cocked 
on one side. Every would-be borrower knew this and never dared 
approach him on the subject unless his hat gave the proper signal. 
He charged a very small rate of interest, and the notes which he took 
were rarely ever presented. It is said that after his death a number 
were presented which he never intended should be collected. 



Robert Andrews, a Hero of Bunker Hill 247 

One of his acts of philanthropy was to leave $1,000, the interest 
on which is to be used for "the worthy and industrious poor of the 
town of Bridgton." This is given out each year in small amounts by 
the town treasurer. Others have followed his example in this re- 
spect. Lieut. Andrews received a pension as a Revolutionary 
soldier, of $80 a year. 

An anecdote is told concerning the old flint-lock musket which the 
Lieutenant carried at Bunker Hill. Years after his death, there was 
an auction of the household goods of his executor, some of his be- 
longings being among them. A near neighbor, in rummaging 
around the debris after the auction, found the old musket thrown 
away, so took it home. When others heard of it, they tried to 
buy it, but without success. It is still in the possesssion of the widow 
of Robert JM. Ingalls, and a picture was taken of it in that house. 

One of the last public acts of his life was the journey to Charles- 
town, Mass., at the age of 91 years, to attend the celebration of the 
completion of Bunker Hill monument. 

The old Lieutenant lived to be 92 years and 6 months, passing his 
last days in the quiet and comfort of his old home. He was tenderly 
cared for by one of his "boys," to whom he gave half of his house 
and a portion of his farm. One of his namesakes helped brick up 
the grave, a custom of respect shown in the old days to people of 
prominence. 

He was laid to rest in the South Bridgton cemetery, the land for 
which he had given to the town. Later, a monument, topped by a 
miniature reproduction of Bunker Hill monument, was placed there. 
The inscription reads : 

Lieut. Robert Andrews 
Born in Boxford, Mass., Oct. 5, 1752. 
Died at his residence in Bridgton, 
Apr. 26, 1845 
Aged 92 years and 6 mos. 
A firm believer of Christianity of which 
for more than 50 years he was a hum- 
ble and consistent professor. 
Friendly and sincere, he was a kind neigh- 
bor, a good citizen, a worthy and useful 
man. 
A true Patriot, he was in the battle of 
Bunker Hill and a brave soldier 
through the Revolution. 
* * * 

The life of Robert Andrews is an inspiring one. For nearly a 
century he lived, during the days of our country's struggle for inde- 
pendence, its adjustment as a republic and the beginnings of its 
national life. It is like a benediction to stand in the peaceful val- 



248 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

ley, where all that was mortal of him was laid to rest over seventj' 
years ago, and view the beautiful rural scenes which he loved and 
which will ever hold pleasant memories of him. As we review his 
patriotism, his willingness to endure hardship, his thrift, his gener- 
osity, and his upright, sturdy character, we feel that he richl.y 
deserved the eulogy which is entered opposite his name in the old 
church records, "He was a Public Benefactor." 




-=s®;^tt?*g--,S 



References : Cram's Historical Address, Bridgton, 1852. History of Box- 
ford, Mass., Perley. Massachusetts Soldiers and Sailors, War of the Revolu- 
tion. Personal Interviews. Acknowledgment is made lo the valuable assist- 
ance of Mrs. Mary E. Stevens, whose blessed memory is inseparably connected 
v.ith the preparation of this article. 



THE STORY OF ANCIENT GORGEANA 




The Story of Ancient Gorgeana 

By NINA VICTORIA ADAMS TALBOT 

{Mrs. Archie Lee Talbot) 

HE STORY of the city of Gorgeana, the first chartered 
city in America, known to history, and the town of 
York, in the seventeenth century that succeeded it, is 
an important part of the history of the beginning of 
Colonial Maine. 

It is replete with narrative and romance; but our 
story will contain more of overlooked history than ro- 
mance, together with personal recollections of a visit to this historic 
place, on an important occasion, — the place known at different times, 
in succession, as Agamenticus (as Accumenticus), Bristol, Gorgeana, 
and York. 

The first settlement of the ancient maritime town of York, Maine, 
on the Atlantic coast, began soon after the landing of the Pilgrims, 
at Plymouth, Mass., in 1620. Fishermen were on the banks of the 
Agamenticus or York river as early as 1622. 

Agamenticus was then, and is to this day, the name of a 
mountain 680 feet high, consisting of three elevations and situated 
in the northern part of the town of York, about five miles from the 
ocean. It is a noted landmark for mariners and is said to be the first 
height of land seen by them from the sea, on the coast northward and 
eastward from Portsmouth. 

There is a short and deep tidal river whose mouth nature seems 
to have made for a safe harbor. This river was once called Agamen- 
ticus (the most ancient name being the Organug), now York river 
and harbor. The river itself receives but little supply from the 
short fresh water stream above the head of the tide, and therefore is 
indebted to the ocean for its existence. Its length at flood tide is 
seven miles, and the harbor, which is narrow and crooked at the en- 
trance, can receive vessels of two or three hundred tons' burden. 

Along the coast, four miles distant, a part of which is a beautiful 
beach of white sand, is the mouth of Cape Neddick river which is a 
stream flowing from the foot of Mount Agamenticus, and is so small 
as to be fordable at half tide. It is never navigable more than a 
mile from the ocean at high water. It is often referred to in the old 
York deeds of land as "Little River." On the southwest of this lit- 
tle river and at the upper end of Long Sands Bay, is the "Nubble," 
which is a small hillock. 

Sir Perdinando Georges, justly called the "Father of Ameri- 
can Colonization," being impeded in securing the needed support 



252 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

and thwarted in his efforts to establish a permanent government in 
the region between the Piseataqua and Kennebec rivers, that he called 
New Somersetshire, undertook through his nephew, Captain Wil- 
liam Gorges, and six other councilors, one of whom was Edward God- 
frey of Agamenticus, to establish and maintain a government. Their 
first meeting of record, was March 25, 1636, and their last, July 4, 
1637. Captain Gorges was soon after recalled to England. The 
record of these meetings is the beginning of the records of York 
County. 

It was the fixed purpose of Sir Ferdinando Gorges to plant a 
Colony here even at his own expense. Martin Pring had explored 
and examined this place and vicinity in 1603; Captain John Smith 
in 1614; and Richard Vines had, in 1616, examined it under special 
directions of Sir Ferdinando Gorges ; Thomas Dermer had visited it 
in 1619 ; Christopher Leavett had also examined it in 1623 ; and 
Gorges thus knew of the short salt water river admitting vessels to 
a safe harbor, with good anchorage at and about its mouth, which 
river situated nearly equally distant from the Agamenticus mountain 
and the river Piseataqua, was the natural outlet of a future 
metropolis. 

Pleased with the description of the place he procured from the 
Plymouth Council, in England, a patent of 24,000 acres of land, viz : 
12,000 acres granted to Lieut. Col. Walter Norton and others on the 
east side of the river, while a like amount on the west side was given 
to his grandson, Ferdinando Gorges, believing that he would thus 
"Be better fortified" in his rights. 

Thereupon Norton and his associates hastened to take possession 
of their territory, taking with them their families and necessary pro- 
visions, and Gorges sent over to represent his son, his nephew, Capt. 
William Gorges, with craftsmen for the building of houses and erect- 
ing of saw mills. By other shipping from Bristol, Gorges sent cat- 
tle with servants by which he says ' ' The foundation of the plantation 
was laid." Thus came the first permanent settlers of York. Pre- 
ceding this expedition must have gone Edward Godfrey, a steadfast 
defender of the rights of Gorges, and whose character stands out 
strong and able. 

These settlers from Bristol, England, called the new settlement 
Bristol, supplanting for a time the name Agamenticus, but they seem 
to have failed in permanently retaining the name Bristol. Sir Ferdi- 
nando Gorges himself did not recognize it, but a settlement was com- 
menced on the eastern side of the river, near the ocean, and after- 
ward no other plantation of Gorges had so continually and so fully 

his patronage and favor. 

* * * 

It was not until April 3, 1639, that Sir Ferdinando Gorges ob- 
tained from King Charles First, a provincial charter of his territory, 




o 
O 

o 



The Story of Ancient Gorgeana 253 

in which the name "Maine," that was first in the charter to Gorges 
and Mason, in 1622, was restored, the language being ''And we do 
ordain and appoint that the Porcon of the j\Iayne Lande or County 
of Mayne." By this charter Gorges was made lord palatine of a 
princely domain, the lord palatine and his heirs and assigns being 
made absolute lords proprietors of the Province, subject only to the 
supreme dominion, faith, and allegiance to the Crown, with certain 
revenues payable thereto. 

Sir Ferdinando Gorges much desired to visit America, but being 
impeded by accidents, Thomas Gorges, a nephew or "cousin" as such 
kinsmen were called, was sent as deputy governor. He was of the 
Inns-of-Court; a barrister, and a young man of ability and judicial 
temperament. 

Up to this time there had been a laxity of law and order. In 
1640 Thomas Gorges reached Bristol, and established his authority. 
The court records show that his court was needed. "The wiley and 
corrupt George Burdett," in the guise of a clergyman, was working 
iniquity. He was arrested, indicted and convicted of various crimes. 

With the Deputy Governor were six Councilors, one of whom was 
Edward Godfrey, the first to build a dwelling in Agamenticus. The 
government of the Province was organized March 10, 1640, and the 
first general court for the prosecution of justice throughout his 
Province, was opened in Saco, June 25, 1640. 

On April 10, 1641, Sir Ferdinando Gorges, the lord palatine, cre- 
ated the plantation of Agamenticus into a borough with the "Church 
chapel or oratory" as the center thereof. (There is no record that 
the chapel was actually built.) It embraced the territory three 
miles each way, from said church chapel or oratory. A borough was 
an English town, and this was the first town incorporated in Maine. 

« * * 

On March 1, 1642, Gorges issued his Charter as "Lord of the 
Province of Mayne" by which he incorporated a territory of twenty- 
one square miles, and the inhabitants thereon, into a city, which he 
called "Gorgeana." He ordained "that ye Circuite of ye said In- 
corporation * * * shall extend from ye Beginning of ye Entrance 
of ye River * * * & so up ye said River seven Inglish miles, and all 
along ye East & North East side of ye sea shore Three English miles 
in breadth from ye Entrance of ye said River, and up into ye Mayne 
Land, seven miles. Butting with ye seven miles from ye sea side." 

The government consisted of a mayor, twelve aldermen, twenty- 
four common-councilmen and a recorder, all to be annually elected 
in March, by the freeholders, who under the Gorges Charter were 
owners of real estate. The Mayor and Aldermen were ex-officio jus- 
tices and had the appointment of four sergeants whose badge was a 
"white rod," and whose duty it was to serve judicial notices and 



254 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

attend upon the court. The officers took the oath of allegiance and 
fidelity to the faithful performance of their duty. Under this char- 
ter elections were held and the business authorized performed. 
Edward Godfrey was the first mayor of the city of Gorgeana and was 
succeeded, in 1643, by Roger Garde, who had previously served as 
Alderman. 

Governor Winthrop of the Massachusetts Bay Colony said, re- 
ferring to Roger Garde, "They made a taylor their mayor," the in- 
ference being that such could not be elected in the Bay Colony. 
Since in our day a tailor has been elected Vice-President and be- 
came President of the United States, this remark seems unworthy 
of a colonial governor or anyone. 

Mayor Garde was a man of large estate and good education. 
When the government was organized under the Gorges Charter in 
1640, he was appointed recorder of the Province of Maine, and was 
continued in that office until his death in 1645. He was buried with 
military honors. 

From Governor Winthrop 's journal we learn that the population 
of the city of Gorgeana was between 250 and 300 souls. We think 
Governor Winthrop would not make it any larger than it was. 
Plymouth Colony had no larger population ten years after its first 
settlement. Historian Williamson says that for "more than ten 
years the city of Georgeana acted in a corporate capacity, making 
grants of land and managing affairs in a manner most beneficial to 
the interests of the people." Surely the city of Gorgeana is not a 
legend or dream. It was in fact the first chartered city in America. 

* * * 

As the conflict between King Charles First and Parliament in- 
tensified, Thomas Gorges, in the summer of 1643, returned to Eng- 
land, and was commissioned lieutenant-colonel in the Somerset 
Militia. The cellar of his residence in Gorgeana is still pointed out 
on the bank of the river. 

Sir Ferdinando Gorges himself, although more than seventy years 
of age, joined the Army of the Crown in the civil wars and was 
with Prince Rupert the last year of his famous siege of Bristol, from 
July, 1643, to Sept. 1645, M^ien that city was taken by the parlia- 
mentary forces and Gorges was plundered and thrown into prison. 
It was probably during his imprisonment that he wrote the brief nar- 
rative of his undertakings in New England, afterward published by 
his grandson. 

In conclusion he wrote, "I end, and leave all to Him who is the 
only Author of all goodness and knows best his own time to bring his 
will to be made manifest, and appoints his instruments for the ac- 
complishment thereof ; to whose pleasure it becomes every one of us 
to submit ourselves as to that mighty God and great and gracious 
Lord, to whom all glory doth belong." lie died in 1647. 



The Story of Ancient Gorgeana 255 

The success of the revolution in England stimulated and encour- 
aged rival interests and the enemies of Gorges, both in England and 
America, quickly seized upon his adversity, and the government of 
the Province of Maine was wrecked and almost paralyzed. The 
friends of Gorges did what they could. A court was convened at 
Wells in 1646, which elected Edward Godfrey governor, and several 
other prominent citizens were elected councilors. 

Later other interests united and Edward Godfrey was chosen 
governor by the people in the western part of Maine in 1649. He 
was the first governor chosen by the people in colonial Maine, one of 
the original Councilors appointed by Sir Ferdinando Gorges and the 
only one left at the time. 

In 1654, Edward Godfrey, then in England, affirmed that he had 
been a promoter of this colony in New England from A.D. 1609, and 
above 32 years, an adventurer in that design, an inhabitant of 
Agamenticus in 1629-30 and the first that built there. This makes 
the first permanent settlement of Agamenticus in 1629, but white 
men were living there, in the summer season at least, as early as 

1622. 

* * * 

An act of the general court under the Gorges Province, that has 
remained to this day, is the incorporation, Oct. 20, 1647, of the 
plantation of Piscataqua into a town by the name of Kittery, in re- 
spect to the wishes of several settlers who had emigrated from a town 
of that name in England. It does not seem right that the town of 
York should lose her rank as the first town incorporated in Maine 
when the same place was incorporated by a legal government in 1641, 
although under another name. The place now called York was the 
first incorporated town in Maine and we think it should be consid- 
ered the first town in Maine. 

The death of Sir Ferdinando Gorges and the execution of his 
royal friend and protector, King Charles First, stimulated the 
Massachusetts Bay Colony to extend her jurisdiction over the 
Province of Maine. 

In 1652. Commissioners were appointed by the Bay Colony to 
negotiate with the inhabitants of the Province of Maine. The first 
session of the court of commissioners was held November 20, 1652, 
in Kittery. "Articles of Submission" were written, consisting of 
fourteen stipulations to which the freeholders assented and took the 
oath of allegiance to Massachusetts. 

Among the stipulations it was agreed that Kittery should remain 
a town, that all inhabitants should be freemen, that the right to vote 
for their officers that they had always had in the Province of Maine 
should be continued, and to be represented by those of their own 
choice in the General Court; that they should be secure in their 
property, with all the liberties and protection as the people in the 



256 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Massachusetts Bay Colony, and that their militia should not be or- 
dered beyond their borders without their consent. Surely this was 
an agreement rather than a "submission." 

The commissioners' court was next held in Gorgeana. The fol- 
lowing account is of interest: "Upon the 22 November, 1652, the 
Commissioners held their Court, and the inhabitants appeared, and 
after some tyme in debatements and many questions answered, and 
objections removed, the full and joint consent, acknowledged them- 
selves subjects to the government of the Massachusetts in New Eng- 
land ; only Mr. Godfrey did forbear, until the voate was past by the 
rest, and then immediately he did by word and voate express his 
consent." Governor Godfrey was obliged to unite with the others. 
His own words are of record. "Whatever my body was enforced to 
do Heaven knows my soul did not consent unto. ' ' 

The inhabitants of the Province of Maine were powerless to de- 
fend themselves against political enemies and the savages that were 
all about them, liable to attack them at any time. The promised 
protection of the Massachusetts Bay Colony against the Indians was 
the real reason that caused them to become a part of Massachusetts 
in 1652, but with all their fear of the Indians they did not do this 
until articles that would be more correctly called Articles of Agree- 
ment, were made preserving their right to vote, that they had always 
had the same as the freemen in the Plymouth Colony, the right of 
suffrage not to be restricted to church members as in the Massachu- 
setts Bay Colony. 

The same rights were given to the inhabitants of Gorgeana that 
were given to those in Kittery, with the exception of the right to re- 
tain the name Gorgeana. The Massachusetts Bay Colony was de- 
termined to destroy, so far as they could, all record or reminder of 
Sir Ferdinando Gorges, the devoted friend of King Charles First. 

Forty-nine men of Gorgeana took the oath of a freeman and alle- 
giance to Massachusetts. One woman, Mary Topp, "Acknowledged 
herself subject &c only." No record of land owned by her appears 
in the old York County deeds and the reason why this one woman 
in Gorgeana acknowleclged herself a subject only, is a question yet 
unsolved. 

It was ordained in the writings that Agamenticus (they would 
not even mention the name Gorgeana) should be a town and be 
named "York" for the ancient town, and largest county in England. 
As soon as those in other principal places in the Province had taken 
the oath of allegiance it was ordained that the whole territory beyond 
the Piscataqua river, under the jurisdiction of Massachusetts, should 
be a county to be called "Yorkshire." 

A city, according to the English idea and custom in those days, 
was the headquarters or "see" of a bishop. It was clearly the pur- 
pose of Sir Ferdinando Gorges to make Gorgeana the seat of a bishop 



The Story of Ancient Gorgeana 257 

for New England, and had the army of King Charles First been suc- 
cessful the city of Gorgeana, that originally embraced all the land to 
the ocean and an excellent harbor, would no doubt have been the 
metropolis of New England. The government of Massachusetts Bay 
Colony understood this perfectly and it intensified their hatred of 
Sir Ferdinando Gorges, as England hated George Washington during 
his lifetime. 

There are many noble qualities in the life of Sir Ferdinando 
Gorges that entitle him to our respect and esteem. While he was on 
the wrong side in the struggle for liberty and the rights of the people 
in England, we can but feel that it was right and honorable for him 
to have been on the side of his royal friend, King Charles First, who 
had done so much for him. 

He was devoted to the colonization of America, especially New 
England, and was the friend of the Pilgrims, aiding them with wise 
counsel, and shielding them from their enemies in England. He 
was also the friend of the IMassachusetts Bay Colony in its early 
days. Invested with absolute power he gave the people of the 
Province of Maine more and greater privileges than were given by 
the Puritans to the people of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. 

The name and memory of Sir Ferdinando Gorges should ever be 
cherished and honored by the people of Maine and especially by the 
descendants of the freemen of his cherished city of Gorgeana. 

* * * 

The vicissitudes of those early days may be traced from the records 
of the town. By 1660 York was growing rapidly and flourishing, as 
is evidenced by the land grants. Yet the title to the Province was 
still in litigation, but when Charles Second came to the throne, 
Massachusetts Bay Colony feared, at times, lest its own great charter 
be annulled. For thirty years York, the seat of the provisional gov- 
ernment and the place least reconciled to the rule of Massachusetts 
Bay, was a storm center of the contesting claimants. 

The last fitful cloud cleared away in 1684, when President Dan- 
forth, authorized by the Massachusetts Bay Colony, "ye now Lord 
Proprietors," confirmed to the inhabitants all rights and privileges 
"to them formerly granted by Sir Ferdinando Gorges." Thus it 
would seem that Massachusetts Bay chose to rest her title as assignee 
to the Gorges heirs, rather than to her interpretation of the famous 
line north of the Merrimac River. 

For more than one hundred years the inhabitants in what is now 
the State of Maine lived in terror of the Indians, whom they called 
"the heathen." All of this time England and France were rival 
claimants for possession and Maine was disputed territory. It is 
easy to see the reason for the action of the French in Canada, in the 
French and Indian Wars in Colonial Maine. The stories of the cruel 



258 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

torture and massacre by the Indians, led on by the Canadian French, 
that have been handed down through generations in New England 
are still vividly remembered by their descendants. 

An attack, made at Cape Neddick in York, by the Indians in 
1676, was attended with aw^ful cruelty. Forty persons were slain or 
carried into captivity and the dwellings laid in ashes. Again the 
dwellings were burned in 1691, but the other settlements in York had 
singularly escaped. In 1692, the "Day of Doom" was upon them. 
A band of savages in the winter of 1692, led by Frenchmen, set out 
from Penobscot, being joined on the way by allies from the Kenne- 
bec, to attack and destroy the western settlements. 

On the night of February 4 (O. S.) they gathered upon the 
wooded slopes of Mount Agamenticus, from whence they could look 
down upon the little village of York and see the lights in the houses 
in the distance. Some of these houses were fortified, and a watch 
kept, which probably deterred the Indians from making a night at- 
tack, for they waited until daylight. 

Then, as it began to be light, they crept toward their prey, partly 
concealed by the snow which was now silently falling about them. 
The watch at this hour had doubtless ceased and they approached the 
doomed village unperceived. A good authority says they ' ' consisted 
of nearly as many French as Indians, in all exceeding one hundred 
and fifty." Another account makes the number more than twice as 
many, all of them having taken up their march upon snow-shoes. 

"A scene of most horrid carnage and capture instantly ensued; 
and in one half hour, more than an hundred and sixty of the in- 
habitants were expiring victims or trembling supplicants, at the feet 
of their enraged enemies. The rest had the good fortune to escape 
with their lives into Preble's, Haman's, Alcock's, and Norton's gar- 
rison houses, the best fortifications in town. * * * About 75 of the 
people were killed, yet despairing of their conquest or capitulation, 
the vindictive destroyers set on fire nearly all the unfortified houses 
on the north side of the river. * * * Apprehensive of being overtaken 
by avenging pursuers, they hastened their retreat into the woods, tak- 
ing with them as much booty as they could carry, and as Dr. Mather 
says, near an hundred of that unhappy people prisoners." 

Rev. Shubael Dummer, the first minister in York, was among the 
first to fall. He was just mounting his horse when struck down by 
a bullet. His wife and son were made prisoners. She soon died 
from the terrible fatiguing march in the wilderness of Maine. 

Mr. Williamson in his History of the State of Maine, says: "The 
massacre in York and burning of the town were the more deeply and 
extensively lamented because of the antiquity and pre-eminence of 
the place and the excellent character of the people." 

The writer recalls to mind another name, her first American 
ancestor, a resident of Gorgeana, one of the forty-nine men who took 



The Story of Ancient Gor^eana 259 

the oath of a freeman and allegiance to Massachusetts, November 
22, 1652, one of the selectmen of the town of York in 1674, who fell 
a victim in the cruel massacre February 5, 1692. 

While this is sad history of our state and of many of the colonial 
families in Maine, whose descendants are still with us, we are not 
unmindful that two generations later, it was the French in Canada 
who saved the remnant of Arnold's army from starvation, after that 
terrible march through the wilderness of Maine, in the winter of 
1775, and that the Penobscot Indians were true to their native land 
and fought side by side with the Americans against the British in 

the War of the Revolution. 

* * * 

In the Revolution the patriotism of the citizens of York is con- 
spicuous by the quick response to the Lexington Alarm, April 19, 
1775, for the town of York has the honor of having raised and sent, 
within twenty-four hours, the first company of soldiers out of the 
District of Maine to relieve their suffering countrymen. 

Hon. David Sewall, of said town, stated in 1794, which was re- 
peated by Williamson in his History of the State of Maine, that the 
news of the battle of Lexington was received at York at nine o'clock 
in the evening April 20, 1775, and although no Minute Men had been 
formed in that town, a company of over sixty men was enrolled, 
fitted out with guns, ammunition and haversacks, with provisions for 
several days, and actually marched the next day, the 21st, and had 
crossed over the Piscataqua River into New Hampshire before night. 
They were soon sent back because their services were not needed. 

This fact, so surprising, is proved by the original pay roll of Cap- 
tain Johnson Moulton's Company, now in a good state of preserva- 
tion in the Archives of Massachusetts. The date of enlistment is 
April 21, 1775, sixty-three men all from the town of York, and were 

allowed four days' pay. 

* * * 

Two Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary. 

As the writer thinks of the old town of York, the home of her 
earliest ancestors in America, for three generations, she is reminded 
of a very pleasant visit to this ancestral town, on the occasion of the 
two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the town, August 5, 1902. 
No personal acquaintances resided there, but this historic town and 
the assemblage on that anniversary day had something more than a 
general interest to her. The events of that day are ever recalled 
with pleasure. 

The "Old Gaol" or King's Prison, that was built in 1653, was 
of special interest. This old jail attracts the attention of every one 
who visits the town of York and we recall how it looked that day, 
both outside and inside, as it still preserves the dungeons, court- 



260 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

room and sheriff's residence, now devoted to a colonial museum of 
valuable relics, household utensils, books, manuscripts, commissions, 
coats-of-arms, etc. 

So far as known, the four or five garrison houses, the meeting- 
house, which stood south of the burying ground, and the "Gaol" 
were all, on the north side of the river, that escaped the torch on 
that dreadful morning, February 5, 1692. 

We visited the Mclntire Garrison House, built in 1640, in that 
part of the town that was first settled by emigrants from Scotland, 
and other houses of interest, notably Coventry Hall, the former resi- 
dence of Judge David Sewall, LL.D., a graduate from Harvard Col- 
lege, in 1755, classmate and life-long friend of President John 
Adams. During the administration of President Washington he 
built this mansion, that is now known as Coventry liall, so named 
from Coventry, England, from whence came the ancestors of Judge 
Sewall. It was in this stately home that Judge Sewall entertained 
President Munroe on his "progress eastward." We read the wor- 
thy record inscribed on the memorial stone in honor of Lieutenant 
Abraham Preble, whose father, Abraham Preble, Sr., was, in 1674, 
a selectman of the town of York, on the board with Philip Adams, the 
ancestor of the writer. 

Among the old places of interest we visited the old burying 
ground, read the inscriptions on the stones that mark the old graves 
and stood beside what is called "The Witches Grave" with a heavy 
stone slab resting its entire length between the head-stone and foot- 
stone. There is no record of a witch in the old town in the days of 
witches, and a queer story is told about this grave. 

It is said that about a century ago a woman died and was buried 
there, and as the hogs in those days "well yoked and ringed" were 
allowed to run at large, her husband, who was about to remove from 
town, considerately placed the heavy stone upon it to prevent it from 
being disturbed. However this may be, the residents of the town 
of York will not admit that there was ever a witch in town, or even 
a man in to^vn who thought he could hold such in her grave by plac- 
ing on it a great stone slab. 

We recall the parade of a detachment of United States marines, 
with the Marine Band of the Kittery Navy Yard ; the military com- 
pany for the occasion, permitted to bear arms by his Excellency, 
Honorable John F. Hill, Governor of Maine, who was in command 
of the company, costumed and representing Captain Johnson Moul- 
ton's Company of Volunteers in 1775; the floral parade of the chil- 
dren of the public schools ; the tableaux on floats ; 1614, Captain 
John Smith, unfolding his "Great Map of New England" before 
Prince Charles, who named this locality Boston, and Mt. Agamenti- 
cus "Snowden Hill;" 1681-2, Col. Walter Norton and the Colonists 
from Bristol, England, sent by Gorges to take possession "by which 



The Story of Ancient Gor^eana 261 

the foundation of this plantation was laid;" 1642, Edward Godfrey, 
Mayor of Gorgeana, Roger Garde, Recorder, "Sargents of ye White 
Rod" and Aldermen; 1652, Massachusetts Bay Colony assumes con- 
trol. Right Worshipful Sir Richard Bellingham and Sheriff Nor- 
ton, Edward Godfrey refuses to submit, resolving to exercise juris- 
diction "until it shall please Parliament otherwise to order;" 1692, 
Sack and IMassaere by the French and Indians, Killing of Rev. Shu- 
bael Dummer, first pastor of the Parish, at his house near Roaring 
Rock; 1745-47, Sir William Pepperrill presenting to Col. Jeremiah 
Moulton a silver tankard, a gift from King George II. for valiant 
conduct at Louisburg; 1761, Major Samuel Sewall builds "The Great 
Bridge" over York River, the first pile draw bridge in America; 

1774, Daniel Moulton, Town Clerk, in town meeting, reading the 
resolutions protesting against taxation without representation, and 
pledging support, especially to brethren of the "Town of Boston;" 

1775, Volunteers, Men of the Alarm List, under Capt. Johnson Moul- 
ton, responding to the call from Lexington, April 21st, 1775, first 
troops to leave Maine in the struggle for independence ; 1816, Presi- 
dent ]\Iunroe received by Judge David Sewall, escorted by officers of 
First Regiment of the District of Maine Militia. 

All these historic events, from the earliest Colonial days, were 
reproduced in a most excellent and interesting manner. 

In the afternoon there gathered, near the old Court-House, on 
the village green, in the clear, bracing air of a perfect August day, 
an assemblage numbering into the thousands. It represented not 
only all that is best in an old, thrifty New England town, but also 
many hundreds of summer residents and non-residents from every 
section of the Union. 

Upon the platform, erected in the shade of the old building, were 
seated distinguished historians, authors, educators, and statesmen. 

Hon. John C. Stewart welcomed all in a very happy manner. 

The oration was by Hon. James Phinney Baxter, President of the 
Maine Historical Society, and of the New England Historic Gen- 
ealogical Society; an address by Hon. Frank D. Marshall and short 
addresses by distinguished guests. Major General Joshua L. Cham- 
berlain, Rev. William J. Tucker, D.D., President of Dartmouth Col- 
lege, Francis Lynde Stetson, Esq., New York City; Thomas Nelson 
Page, Litt.D., Washington, D. C, William Dean Howells, Litt.D., 
Boston, Hon. Thomas B. Reed, Samuel L. Clemens, Litt.D. (Mark 
Twain), and others. 

Here were spoken the last public words of Thomas B. Reed, who 
had quietly come from New York to meet his friends in the old First 
District of Maine. He spoke only too briefly — a characteristic, hu- 
morous excuse for what he termed an intrusion. He made a humor- 
ous allusion to his friend, the great humorist, which was later to 
arouse and turn the wit of ^Ir. Clemens upon Mr. Reed, and closed 



262 



The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 



with words of soberness upon the nobility and responsibility of good 
citizenship. Mr. Clemens had a cottage in York, as also several of 
the other speakers, and was a summer resident. He was in fine spir- 
its that day (not fermented) and the wit of Mr. Reed and Mr. 
Clemens was a pleasant feature, enlivening the occasion. 

At the close of the public exercises of this eventful day, a recep- 
tion was given to the members of the Maine Historical Society, who 
were making this celebration a "Field Day," also to the distin- 
guished speakers and other guests and visitors, at the old "Judge 
Sewall Mansion," a social gathering which all enjoyed. 

Thus we end our story of the historic city of Gorgeana, and the 
old town of York, Maine, with the story of that delightful 250th an- 
niversary day in 1902 — scenes and events that will long be remem- 
bered. 




Note: The author of this story is a lineal descendant in the eighth gen- 
eration from Philip Adams, one of the forty-nine men of the city of Gorgeana 
who took the oath of a freeman and allegiance to Massachusetts, November 
22, 1652; a selectman of the town of York in 1674, who fell a victim in the 
great massacre by the Indians in 1692. 

Mrs. Talbot in her historical article brings out facts of interest that we 
think have never before been published. Among these that Agamenticus, in- 
corporated into a town or borough, April 10, 1641, was the first town incor- 
porated in Maine and that the statements signed by the freeholders of Kittery 
and Gorgeana in 1652, were improperly called, "Articles of Submission" as 
they were simply Articles of Agreement, mutually entered into by and between 
the Massachusetts Bay Colony and the inhabitants of those towns in the 
Province of Maine. The commissioners by fair promises induced them 
voluntarily to subscribe to these articles, and it was unjust to cast any reflec- 
tions upon them by using language that implies subjection or submission to 
any compulsion, for it was their own free act, by agreement, that protected 
their inalienable rights. — Ed. 



TWO JUSTICES OF THE SUPREME COURT 
OF MAINE 




Two Justices of the Supreme Court of Maine 

By FLORENCE WAUGH DANFORTH 

N THE days when court was held at Norridgewock and 
the Danforth Hotel was in its glory, there were several 
residents of that little town on the Kennebec whose 
deeds of fame have long outlived their own generation 
and are well worth a passing thought in the busy com- 
mercial world of today. Two of these men rose to the 
dignity of the Supreme Bench — one a real son of Nor- 
ridgewock, the other hers by adoption. 

Thither from the Byfield Parish, in the little town of Rowley, 
Massachusetts, came John Searle Tcnney and opened a law office on 
the north side of the river. Mr. Tenney was bom in 1793 on the 
very farm where his ancestors had settled in 1639. His childhood 
days were spent on this farm; his early education was begun at the 
district school where he laid the foundation of a vigorous physical 
and mental constitution which lasted him through long years of use- 
fulness. He received his college preparation at Dummer Academy, 
under the instruction of the famous Abiel Abbott, and entered Bow- 
doin College in 1812, where he ranked high as a scholar, particularly 
in the Greek classics, and graduated at the head of his class. ^ 

He taught in the Academy at Warren, Maine, for a few months 
and then studied law at Hallo Vv ell, under the instruction of Elias 
Bond, who prepared him for the practice of his profession. In 1820 
the young lawyer came to Norridgewock, the shire town of Somerset 
County, ostensibly to practice law, but in reality to perform pioneer 
work not only in the way of shaping and moulding the character and 
habit of thought of the young lawyers who came to settle later in the 
town, but also to impress his stamp upon the character of the entire 
community. 

The practice of law in those days was very diflPerent from the 
present time. The litigated cases were in the hands of a few emi- 
nent lawyers, well-grounded in the arena of argument, who made a 
circuit of all the counties, monopolizing the important business of 
the courts. These men were regular giants in their mastery of law 
and certain of the confidence of the community. What chance was 
there for a beginner full of distrust of his own powers and with no 
political backing? 

For twelve years Mr- Tenney confined himself to the dull 
drudgery of a lawyer's office. In 1832 the crucial moment came, in 

'There were eleven in his class. Professor Packard, for over fifty years 
teacher and professor at Bowdoin College, was a classmate. 



266 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

a closely contested case with the Hon. Peleg Sprague, then a United 
States Senator, as the opposing lawyer. ]Mr. Tenney was successful; 
henceforth he was an advocate as well as a sound lawyer. 

In 1837, he was elected a member of the House of Representa- 
tives. This was to him a new experience. His law practice had 
been confined to his own county, hence he was less known through- 
out the State than he was entitled to be from his real merits- It so 
happened that on the election for Governor- for this j'ear, the votes 
of the two parties were so nearly equal as to leave each a chance to 
challenge the other. When the official count was made, the result 
depended entirely upon whether the returns from certain towns 
claimed by one party to be erroneous were to be received or rejected. 
The validity of these returns became the all-absorbing topic of con- 
vei-sation. The leading members of each political party held cau- 
cuses to decide what course to pursue. At one of these private meet- 
ings, 3Ir. Tenney was called upon for his judgment. He complied 
with the request and removed all doubts of those present. The fol- 
lowing day he repeated his speech in the House. The question was 
settled in accordance with ]\Ir. Tenney 's views. His speech was 
printed and circulated, thus extending throughout the State the repu- 
tation which he had established in his own county, and when a 
vacancy occurred upon the bench, he was appointed as the person 
fitted to fill it.3 

In 1841 he was appointed Associate Justice of the Supreme Judi- 
ical Court — a voluntary offering to his fitness for the place.* "Into 
this position" says Judge Danforth, "he carried the same nice sense 
of honor that had characterized his professional life. Here, too, was 
exhibited the same self-possession, the same patience under trying 
and dif^cult duties by which he had hitherto been distinguished- His 
courtesy toward the members of the bar never failed. In his cour- 
tesy, however, he never forgot his dignity, or rather that never forgot 
itself. It was natural to the man — a part of his very being ; existing 
within him, the result of native force, and an innate sense of the 
right and proper, ever-present, regulating and controlling all his con- 
duct without effort and almost unconsciously to himself." 

Judge Tenney was re-appointed without opposition and, at the 
end of his second term, he was made Chief Justice with "universal 
approbation." At the expiration of his term of office as Chief Jus- 
tice he retired in the full vigor of life, his "ermine unsullied," ear- 

^The two candidates for Governor were Edward Kent (Whig) and Gor- 
ham Parks (Democrat). In the official count Edward Kent received 34,358, 
Gorham Parks received 33.879. 

^For my knowledge of Judge Tenne3''s rise in his profession, I am in- 
debted to his fellow townsman and contemporarj- Judge Danforth, in the 
Maine Report, Volume LVI, appendix pages 594-596. 

*Maine Report, Volume LVI. Appendix, page 596. 



Two Justices of the Supreme Court of Maine 267 

rying with him the universal respect of those with whom he had been 
closely associated. 

Late in life he was twice elected State Senator,^ immediately after 
he retired from public life. He had given many \^ears of service to 
the state, the evening of his life belonged to himself. Henceforth he 
attended only to his o^\^l affairs and spent much of his time in social 
intercourse with his friends. 

The formal published opinions of Judge Tenney, numbering six 
hundred and seventy-three (over thirty a year), may be found in 
Volumes twenty to fifty-two inclusive of the Maine Reports. These 
opinions treat of a wide variety of subjects likely to arise in common 
law courts and cover a much longer term of years than the average 
judicial life.® "It is his written opinions" says Gen. Hamlin, ''which 
evidence his knowledge of the law and strength as a judge. They are 
characterized by strength rather than by ease of composition and by 
soundness of conclusion rather than rapidity of reaching results. To 
the profession they are a living source of authority adding harmony 
to the growth of the law. ' ' 

At the time of the dispute over the northeast boundary of Maine, 
Mr. Tenney was employed to effect a settlement with Great Britain 
and made several trips to Quebec with horse and carriage for that 
purpose. '^ This was about the year 1840. Before the final Ashbur- 
ton Treaty was negotiated by Daniel Webster, then Secretary of 
State under President Tyler, Judge Tenney had been appointed to 
the Supreme Bench and as a result of this had no part in the final 
settlement of the boundary line. 

So much for Judge Tenney as a professional man. There are 
other points to be emphasized, however, in such a versatile man, for 
example his personal interest in his Alma Mater. In spite of his great 
mental strain in the legal profession, he found time to serve as Over- 
seer and Trustee of Bowdoin College* during a period of twenty -seven 
years and for twenty years was lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence. 
In 1856 he received the degree of LL.D., and two years later, at the 
celebration of the semi-centennial of the college, Judge Tenney was 
invited to take part in the exercises. He read a paper® which was 
received with such universal favor by the audience that a request 
was made to have the paper printed. 

In stature Judge Tenney was tall and portly, standing six feet 
three inches and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds- His mas- 

^State Senator 1864 and 1865. 

•The Green Bag, Volume VII. page 510. 

''^Mrs. Hathaway, Judge Tenney's daughter, is my authority for Judge 
Tenney's part in the North East Boundary controversy. 

^Overseer of the College 1842-1849. Trustee of the College 1849-1869. 

•The authorities of Bowdoin College can find no trace of this paper ever 
being published. 



268 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

sive frame, his imposing figure, his face, handsome and majestic, his 
high forehead and full eye— all characterized him as a life long stu- 
dent. He would be looked upon today as a typical gentleman of the 
old school. 

Possessing remarkable conversational powers, all classes of men 
interested him; believing in the precept that all men are created 
equal, he made no distinction between an inferior and a superior, but 
made it is his custom to speak courteously to every one he met on the 
village street. 

Coming to Norridgewock fresh from his college life, with his 
brilliant wit and his commanding presence, he naturally became the 
idol of the town in social events — his company was sought in every 
household. 

In 1814 the Danforth Hotel was opened, which became at once 
the home of the Somerset bar and was familiarly called the Court 
Hotel. Here young people danced the stately minuet in the old 
dance hall, which still remains intact with its big fireplaces and 
chandeliers at each end. 

The young lawyer could have had his choice of the belles of the 
town, but he chose instead JMiss Hannah Dennis^** of Ipswich, Massa- 
chusetts, as his life companion. Two children came to brighten their 
household, a son and a claughter,^'^ and of their beautiful home life, 
his daughter, Mrs- Hathaway, who is still living, has much to tell. 

After making a home of his own, Judge Tenney set at work to 
mak« an attractive home for others. Thither came young students 
to study law at his office and become members of his own household. 
Among the number were Sanford Ballard,^- Noah Woods and Wil- 
liam G. Barrows. ^^ The Aroostook War^* broke out while Mr. Bal- 
lard was a student and he enlisted, taking with him a curl from each 
of the Tenney children's hair- saying that when he was dying on the 
battlefield he would kiss those locks of hair — but not a shot was fired 
and he came back to finish his study of law. Judge Barrows, when a 
student in Judge Tenney 's family, always spoke of the two Tenney 
children as the ''little plagues." Mrs. Hathaway remembers these 
incidents of her childhood with much pleasure and recalls them viv- 
idly, although more than three score years have elapsed. 

^"John Searle Tenney and Hannah Dennis were married at Ipswich, 
Massachusetts, in February, 1831. 

^^Martha Jane was born Sept. 21 1832; married Joshua Warren Hathaway 
April 30, i860. Samuel William, born March 10, 1834, died June 23, 1864. 

i-His sister, Emily Ballard, was the first Preceptress of the Female Acad- 
emy, established in 1837, at Norridgewock. 

^-''William G. Barrows afterwards became Judge of the Supreme Court 
from 1 863- 1 884. 

^■•The Aroostook War was caused by a dispute in 1837 over the boundary 
line between Maine and New Brunswick. It was finally settled by arbitration. 





Judge Tenney 



Two Justices of the Supreme Court of Maine 269 

The public schools were not just what Judge Tenney wanted for 
the education of his children ; he preferred to employ governesses for 
them. Among the number was Miss Fanny Dunlap from Portland^^ 
who remained several months as private teacher for the two Tenney 
children and for the two small children of the Hon. Cullen Sawtelle, 
Henrietta and Charles/*^ who came to the Tenney house for lessons. 

Miss Dunlap went directly from Norridgewock to act as gov- 
erness for James Russell Lowell's little daughter Mabel, and shortly 
after married the poet. Mrs. Hathaway, after a period of more than 
seventy years, reviews with pleasure the happy hours spent with the 
young teacher, and says of her, "She was an uncommonly beautiful 
and lovable young woman and we children just adored her." Mrs. 
Hathaway also speaks with much feeling of her father's loving care 
of her in her childhood and recalls many a time of returning home 
on a cold winter's night to find her bed heated for her with an old- 
fashioned warming pan. He used to say that he had no enemy that 
he hated badly enough to want him to sleep cold. 

Miss Sarah Clark recalls Judge Tenney as a regular attendant at 
the village church and says of him : " In my early days I loved to 
watch him in winter, clad in a long, black broadcloth cloak fastened 
by a metal clasp, as he walked with stately stride up the aisle to his 
seat in one of the central body pews." 

Judge Tenney 's love for his native town was quite unusual and 
nothing delighted his soul better than to tell some of the stories con- 
nected with the scenes of his boyhood. When he was a lad it was 
customary to carry on family worship, even when the head of the 
household was not gifted in prayer. He was fond of relating in his 
manhood days a form of family prayer habitually used by a worthy 
old gentleman who lived not far from his father's farm: 

Bless me and bless my body, 
Bless my wife and bless Molly, 
Bless Thomas and prosper him, 
Bless Dudley and his offspring, 
Bless Sol in his store 
And bless Sally forevermore. Amen. 

A tender attachment that years could not weaken bound him to 
his birthplace. Byfield^^ was to him the "Sweet Auburn" in Gold- 
smith 's ' ' Deserted Village. ' ' 

i^Her sister, Miss Elizabeth Dunlap, had previously been a preceptress 
at the Female Academy in Norridgewock. 

i^Miss Henrietta Sawtelle now resides in Inglewood, New Jersey. 
Charles Sawtelle graduated from West Point in 1854. Brevet Brigadier-Gen- 
eral U. S. Army March 13, 1865, for "Faithful and meritorious services in the 
Quartermaster's Department during the war." Died at Washington, D. C, 
January 4, 1913. 

^''The story of B>-iield by John Louis Ewell, page 204. 



270 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Judge Tenney "still had hopes, his long vexations past, 
Here to return — and die at home at last." 

He alwaj^s^^ reserved one room in the ancestral home for his own 
occupancy. The same old furniture — tall clock and straight back 
chairs, remained intact till long after his death. Some of the old in- 
habitants of Byfield recall his noble figure as he sat in pew No. 41 
when he chanced to spend a Sunday in his native town. Judge Ten- 
ney died Aug. 23, 1869, and is buried in the family lot at Byfield. 

Such was Judge Tenney — the man, the scholar, the citizen, who, 
for almost half a century, spoke words of wisdom and kindness to 
those about him, until they became a part of the very constitution 
of society. That part of the man can never die, we shall see his in- 
fluence upon a younger fellow-townsman, who shortly after followed 

in his foosteps. 

* * * 

The influence of Judge Tenney 's life bore fruit near home, for 
next door to him and right under the shadow of the Court House, 
another master of the law was growing into manhood. 

Charles Danforth, the sixth son of Israel and Sally (Wait) Dan- 
forth, was born at the Danforth Hotel, August 1, 1815. The family 
is of English origin. His ancestors came to America in 1634. One 
of them, Thomas Danforth,-'' was an associate Justice of the Supreme 
Court under the charter of 1691. 

Young Danforth was self-reliant and resourceful from his youth 
upward. His older brothers and sisters always liked to tell the story 
of his falling from a boat that was moored on the banks of the Ken- 
nebec River not far from his home. He was only four years old and 
no help was at hand. A few minutes later, however, dripping from 
head to foot, he appeared before his frightened mother, who asked 
him how he got out. "Why I went kick and paw like the dog" was 
his ready response. 

It was his delight as a young boy to watch the pomp and cere- 
mony attendant on court proceedings, for there was much more 
splendor then than now. On the morning of the opening of court, 
two officers bearing poles (their badges of office), used to appear at 
the Hotel and escort the Judge to the Court House. All this, to- 
gether with listening to the most able lawyers of the county by day 
and dreaming of it all by night, was quite enough to turn his natur- 
ally legal mind to the study of law as his life work. 

His playfellows, too, were boys of unusual minds who gave prom- 
ise of high hopes for the future. Squire Allen's sons, Charles and 

i^The Tenney Family by M. J. Tenney, page 169. 
'"The Green Bag, Volume VII., page 460. 



Two Justices of the Supreme Court of Maine 271 

Stephen,^^ were his constant companions. Witii them he fished and 
roamed through the woods, forming then perhaps his love i'or Na- 
ture which afforded him so much pleasure and relaxation from labor 
in later years. 

Charles Allen's dream when a boy of nine years has always been 
a favorite story in both the Danforth and the Allen family. 

The two lads were walking past the Court House when young 
Allen suddenly said: "Charles, I dreamed last night that you were 
Judge in that Court House and I opened the court with prayer." 
As neither of the boys had formed any definite plans for the future, 
the statement was rather startling and for the time was soon forgot- 
ten. It proved, however, to be a forecast of coming events, for many 
years after, while Judge Danforth was holding court in his native 
town, Dr. Tappan, the Congregational minister, was away from home. 
The Sheriff in charge was somewhat disaffected with Parson Nu- 
gent, the Baptist minister. "What was to be done ? The court could 
not open properly without prayer. The Sheriff heard that Dr. 
Charles Allen had arrived at Squire Allen's the evening before. 
Here was his chance. Without consulting the Presiding Justice, he 
escorted Dr. Allen to the court house. As they entered he asked the 
minister if he wouldn't like to meet the Judge, who had arrived early 
and was in his room. He assented and the two men met face to face. 
After a lapse of half a century, the dream of the boy had come true. 

Judge Danforth 's early education began in the village school of 
his native town ; later he attended Bloomfield Academy and then be- 
came a student in Judge Tenney's law office at the same time that 
Mr. Noah Woods was there ; the two became fast friends and were 
afterwards law partners in Gardiner, Maine. 

The young lawyer settled in Gorham, Maine, and remained there 
two years. During this time he made one legal contract that was 
permanent; he became engaged to Miss Julia J. Dinsmore-^ of Nor- 
ridegwock, a young woman of unusual beauty and personal charms, 
whom he had known from early childhood. With the prospect of 
increased responsibilities, a larger field for professional work was 
desirable and with this idea in view the young people settled perma- 
nently in Gardiner, Maine. For ten years a law-partnership existed 
under the name of Danforth and Woods, until Mr. Woods retired 
from legal practice. 

Various offices of trust came to Mr. Danforth in Gardiner such 
as member of the school board, selectman of the town, etc. When 
Gardiner became a city in 1850, he was elected a member of the com- 

2iCharles Allen was president of the Maine State College, 1871-1878. 
Stephen Allen was principal of the Maine Wesleyan Seminary, Kents Hill, 
Maine, from 1841-4. Presiding elder of the Augusta district from 1879-1883. 
He wrote several books. "The History of Methodism in Maine" was one of 
the most important. 

-=Charles Danforth married Julia J. Dinsmore at Norridgewock in 1845. 



272 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

mon council, acting as president of the same for three years. In 
1849 he was nominated by the Whig party as representative to the 
State Legislature and served during the sessions of 1850-1-2, during 
which tmie he was a member of the Judiciary Committee and Chair- 
man of the Insane Hospital Committee. In 1855 he was a member 
of Governor Anson P. Morrill's Council and in 1857 again repre- 
sented Gardiner in the Legislature, for the second time serving on 
the Judiciary Committee. 

In 1858 he was elected County Attorney and almost unanimously 
re-elected in 1861. In 1864 he received an appointment as Justice 
of the Supreme Judicial Court which by three re-appointments upon 
the expiration of the terms, he continued to hold till the day of his 
death. The principal part of Judge Danforth's life work consisted 
in the faithful discharge of the duties of this high office and since his 
reputation and fame rest upon this, it is fitting to review some of his 
legal work. 

"His formal published opinions number three hundred and 
thirty-five and present a remarkable range. ^^ Some thirty of them 
have passed into the list of oft-cited cases — a good test of his judicial 
powers and their value as precedents." 

Ever since Maine became a state there have been laws for the 
assessment and collection of State, County and Municipal taxes on 
real estate. But until the year 1870, the prescribed rules of law had 
never been sufficiently followed in assesssing taxes and taking the 
necessary steps for the sale of real estate to enforce payment there- 
of, so that a sale for non-payment of taxes was held by the Courts 
to be valid. 

In 1870, the Supreme Judicial Court of Maine upheld the tax- 
title in the action of Greene against Lunt (town of Peru, Oxford 
County). Judge Danforth drew the opinion of the Court and this 
has been the leading case in Maine on the question of tax titles. In 
his opinion regarding the case of Greene against Lunt-* the Judge 
says the collector must obtain his information from the assessment, 
which must be complete in and of itself as much as a deed or con- 
tract. The description in the assessment of many of the lots sold 
is defective and insufficient. One is described as one half island 
— whether an undivided half or not does not appear, or if undivided 
no means are furnished by which we can ascertain which half is in- 
tended. 

Such a description is plainly insufficient in a tax title, when the 
lien is fixed by the assessment and nothing is left to the discretion 
of the collector or purchaser as to the location of the lot sold. 
Under such a description the person assessed could not tell whether 

23The Green Bacr— "The Supreme Court of Maine," written by General 
Charles HamHn. Volume VIII, page ii2. 
2*Greene vs. Lunt, 58 Maine, 518. 




Judge Danforth's Home in Gardiner 



Birthplace of Judge Danforth 



Two Justices of the Supreme Court of Maine 273 

it was his property or that of a stranger which was taxed, nor could 
the purchaser have sufficient knowledge of the identity of the land 
to enable him to bid intelligently. Therefore as to these lots the 
action must fail, but for the lots whose identity is fixed, the plaintiff 
must have judgment, but for those which the person assessed could 
not tell whether it was his property or that of a stranger the judg- 
ment is for the defendant. 

Judge Danforth's manner of procedure in court always created 
a clean, wholesome judicial atmosphere, characterized by good com- 
mon sense. The absence of catch phrases, the direct and manly way 
at which he arrived at conclusions, sometimes caused him to be 
accused of having a commonplace style. But commonplace, when 
used with aptness, is always the most telling thing in a judicial 
opinion. 

An intimate friend of his once said: "His pages are like the air 
we breathe. There is little color, little variety, but there is an inte- 
rior harmony and fitness about them not unlike a constant quantity 
in an algebraic formula." 

Chief Justice Peters,^^ his life-long friend, speaks thus in 
analyzing his characteristic qualities: "He was a very helpful asso- 
ciate in judicial consultations. He never allowed first impressions 
or first expressions to hold him to indefensible positions ; never being 
so wedded to his own opinions as to love them better than he loved 
the truth. * * * Such a man often possesses an unusual degree 
of what may be called reserve power, a power only occasionally called 
into action — a power behind power — the waters that linger in the 
eddy until some condition arises to sweep them into the general 
stream. He possessed such power." 

By reason of Judge Danforth's sound judgment in the affairs of 
his legal profession, Bowdoin College, in 1858, conferred upon him 
the honorary degree of A.M. This degree meant more to him than it 
would to the majority of men who might receive that honor, because 
he had never had the advantage of an A.B. from any college. The 
honor came unsought and was a recognition of the ability of a self- 
made man. 

But outside the affairs of state, Judge Danforth had natural and 
cultivated tastes. He was a discriminating reader and enjoyed not 
only serious books, but inclined also to the lighter romances and 
poetry. He was especially fond of Tennyson and could repeat with 
rare enjo^nnent both to himself and his listeners long poems from 
that author. It was his delight, in the evening twilight after the 
long, arduous business tasks of the day, to gather his family about 
him and recite poems from his favorite authors. "Those Evening 
Bells" always entered into some part of the evening's entertainment. 

2BMaine Report, Volume LXXXII, page 592. Published by Loring, Short 
& Harmon. 



274 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

These tastes brought out the genial side of his nature; the lighter 
pleasures of the evening acted as a fitting complement to the sterner 
tasks of the day. 

His seriousness never allowed him to indulge much in humor, 
but he often spoke of his experience as Justice of the Peace, and 
used to say that he never married but two couples and that before a 
year had elapsed he had occasion to divorce them both. 

In his personal appearance Judge Danforth was most prepos- 
sessing. He was almost six teet tall, standing always erect, with 
pleasing address and easy manners. His complexion bore the glow 
of good health and temperate living; he was unaffected and true in 
every fibre of his being and simple in all his tastes. 

The late Orville D. Baker^"^, thus eulogizes him: "His dress, his 
speech, all his pleasures were quiet and modest. Simple himself he 
loved most the things that were simple, Nature and his God, and he 
lived very close to both. Long walks in the woods and by the 
streams, long looks at the mountains and the sky brought him that 
deep refreshment which others vainly seek from cards and wine. 
* * * Above all he was a gentleman, I do not know that anyone 
ever heard him speak harshly and I am certain that no man ever did 
or could speak harshly to him. Even his learning of which he had 
accumulated much, sat softly on him and in all his living gentleness 
became him like a flower. ' ' 

Judge Danforth 's love for his native town was as strong as ever 
Judge Tenney's had been for his. He never missed an opportunity 
of going back to Norridgewock. One afternoon coming up from Gar- 
diner a gentleman greeted him on the train and inquired where he 
was going. He replied: "I am going up home tonight." "Why," 
said the man, "I thought you lived in Gardiner." "I live in Gardi- 
ner," said the Judge, "but my home is in Norridgewock." 

Judge Danforth was stricken with pneumonia while attending 
court in Skowhegan and died March 30, 1890, at his home in Gardi- 
ner. At his request he was carried to Norridgewock for his final 
resting place and laid beneath the old oak tree near the bank of the 
Kennebec river, so dear to his heart. He was survived by one son, 
Frederic Danforth, a well known civil engineer, who served his city 
as Mayor during the years 1901-2, and was State Railroad Commis- 
sioner^ 1894-1900. Mr. Frederic Danforth died June 6, 1913. 

Judge Danforth lived to see great changes in his native town. For 
over sixty years court had been held in Norridgewock, but suddenly 
there came rumors of the ambitions of an adjoining town to become 
the shire town of the county. When court was held the lawyers sat 
around the Franklin stove in the little office of the Danforth Hotel 
and threshed out the pros and cons of the removal of the court to 
Skowhegan. 

^''•Maine Report, Volume LXXXII, page 587-8. 




Judge Danforth Weighing His First Grandchild 



Two Justices of the Supreme Court of Maine 275 

It was argued that Skowhegan was a larger town; that she was 
more centrally located ; that she could boast of a railroad f'^ that ex- 
Governor Coburn had offered the gift of a court house. 

While Norridgewock had none of these inducements to offer she 
still felt that possession was nine points of the law and one lawj^er 
drily remarked that it would be a great mistake to locate the court 
house any further from the Danforth Hotel than it now stood. But 
the pressure brought to bear was too strong and in 1872 the March 
term of court was held in Skowhegan. Shortly after, the Danforth 
Hotel sign was taken down and the house has remained ever since a 
private residence, but always kept in the Danforth family. 

Such was the life of these two noted men of Norridgewock; un- 
like in personal appearance, but in the essentials that go to make up 
the real man, as much alike as father and son. With both these men 
the love of justice and truth was inborn and their moral nature 
worked in unison with the intellectual. Each man acted well the part 
given to him by the State to perform. 

Their lives were well lived, well ended, a success to themselves 
and a blessing to others. The Norridgewock of today has good 
reason to point with pride to these two sons who, for terms aggregat- 
ing forty-seven years, so creditably performed their duties in the 
highest judicial offices the State of Maine could offer. No other town 
in Somerset county and but few cities in the whole State can boast of 
such a record. No particular reason can be assigned for Norridge- 
wock 's good fortune, we take it as a natural course of events and 
thank God for it. 



"The railroad first came to Skowhegan in 1856. 



MRS. NORTH'S STORY 




Mrs. North's Story 

By SARA E. SVENSEN 

NDEED, I prefer to see Jeannette dead rather than mar- 
ried to Alexander Fossette!" 

This remark addressed to me on the eve of my de- 
parture for America had been forgotten in the busy 
period that followed my arrival at Jamestown, Pema- 
quid. With the relief following the labor of settling, 
I seated myself beside the comfortable fireplace in 
Jeannette 's room. The girl, with pale face and closed eyes, lay on 
the cot opposite me and as I looked across at her, the cruel words and 
accompanying scene returned to my memory. Again I was at my 
sister's home in the north of Ireland, pleading for the lovers. 

"Lydia North," the angry woman hurled at me in the broad 
Gaelic dialect, "Have you lost your wits entirely? A daughter of 
mine born of the aristocracy, united to a man without title and with- 
out lands! A disgrace to the name of Young!" 

My sister, a tall, dignified woman, had inherited the beauty and 
grace of our Irish ancestors, and the high, richly furnished rooms 
made an eminently fitting frame for her, as she walked to and fro, 
clasping and unclasping her hands in the effort at self-restraint. 
When she had sufficiently mastered herself, she said in a cold voice, 
edged with sarcasm: 

"You have encouraged the girl in this affair, but your husband 
is opposed to it. John North is a sensible man ! Jeannette 's father 
is as indignant as I, at the silly lovers, and declares that nothing but 
separation will effect a cure ! ' ' She came closer and added triumph- 
antly. "When you and Mr. North sail for the new country, Jeannette 
goes with you!" 

Tears and entreaty were useless. A month later, in a vessel 
owned by Mr. North, with our family, our servants, and our furni- 
ture, we set sail for the coast of Maine, where we had purchased land 
of David Dunbar, a native of Ireland and for a time, colonel in the 
army. 

* * * 

It was Christmas morn, the first we had spent in our Pemaquid 
home and all was ready for our Christmas guests. Without, the air 
was cool and bracing ; within, all warmth and eoziness. We viewed 
our surroundings with much satisfaction. At either end of the great 
room, wide fireplaces sent forth a welcome glow and a crackling 
"Merry Christmas!" Handsome tapestries and richly embroidered 
hangings made an attractive background for the dark, carved furni- 
ture. In the dining room the firelight shone upon dainty china and 



280 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

our decorations of evergreen and red berries were reflected from the 
silver and glass upon the heavy mahogany sideboard. 

I approached the window. The scene without was equally beauti- 
ful. Our home was situated directly at the head of the western 
branch of the John's river with a fine view of Pemaquid Harbor be- 
3'ond. In the past few months a number of houses had been erected 
at Pemaquid and adjacent places. Mr. Vaughn, a wealthy man and 
a friend of Dunbar's, had built for himself at Damariscotta Fresh 
Water Falls, a large house. "Well," I thought to myself, "I must 
admit this place is quite the equal of the Vaughn mansion." 

Soon we were busy receiving and entertaining our neighbors. 

As the guests seated themselves at the table, I took them all in 
at a glance. At the upper end of the board sat David Dunbar and 
wife. The Colonel was long-limbed and raw-boned, with hair de- 
cidedly red and keen gray eyes. I should judge he was about my 
husband's age. Mistress Dunbar was dark-haired, youthful and 
attractive. At the lower end of the table was seated the McFarland 
family. Solomon, the father, was somewhat past middle age, but 
with his strong build and ruddy complexion, he looked much younger. 
Mrs. McFarland was the direct opposite of her husband, short and 
plump, a woman of perhaps forty. George, the younger son, resem- 
bled his mother in form and feature. Walter, the elder, was the very 
type of his father, only slighter. The latter took little or no part in 
the light table talk and I missed his ringing boyish laugh. Often the 
sad blue eyes rested upon Jeannette's face with a questioning look. 

"Indeed, sir," exclaimed Colonel Dunbar in answer to a discus- 
sion between Solomon McFarland and my husband, "I am of the 
opinion of friend North, that 'the only good Indian is a dead one'." 

"I am afraid I do not agree with either of you," declared McFar- 
land in the breadth of the Scotch brogue, "Samoset was a good In- 
dian even when alive and made himself most useful to the whites in 
many ways. Probably there could be found more good Indians in 
the history of Pemaquid if an honest search were made." 

"Sure, and the woods must have been full of them, if we are to 
believe all that we hear about their depredations," said the Colonel 
sarcastically. "At one time one of your good savages tore an infant 
from its mother's arms and burnt it on the fire before her eyes and 
carried the horrified parent into captivity. He was too kind to put 
the tortured woman out of her misery. Another time they took a 
mother and son captive, massacred the former and drove the latter 
along to the tune of his beloved parent's scalp across his face, when- 
ever his feet lagged. I call that kindness personified," continued 
Dunbar in the same sarcastic strain. 

"That, of course, was a long time ago and does not affect us now," 
added the Colonel as he noticed the nervousness of the women and 
children. Nothing daunted, the Scotchman continued his argument: 
"Think what the Indians have had to endure at the hands of the 




John Fossette 

Grandson of Alexander Fossette, and Member of the Convention in 1819, to 

Form the Constitution of Maine 



Mrs. North's Story 281 

whites! Cheated out of their lands, treated with contempt, seized 
and sold as slaves into foreign countries, betrayed by men lilie Wey- 
mouth and Hunt, why should they not take revenge for such wrongs ? 
'Do an Indian a kindness and he will never forget it.' Abraham 
Shurte, a magistrate of influence and a resident of this place in the 
early part of the seventeenth century, always treated the Indians 
justly and kindly, and thus maintained their friendship and respect, 
even when they were enraged against others." 

"May the saints preserve us from the bloody-handed villains," 
said my husband earnestly. "No one can make me think well of 
them. I believe I would do anything to keep out of their clutches." 
Then he continued in a lighter vein : " I am afraid I shall turn out 
another Chubb should the opportunity^ present itself. I think the 
poor man has been too severely criticised. It is true he surrendered 
without much effort, but that was better than holding out too long. 
Had Fort William Henry been carried by assault, he and the 
hundreds of people within its walls would have received no quarter 
from the Indians. Even I would not have dared run such a risk." 
My husband's eyes twinkled and I knew he was purposely challeng- 
ing the Scotchman. 

"I consider anyone who would surrender under such circum- 
stances a coward!" answered McFarland emphatically. "The fort 
was in good condition, with sufficient supplies for a long siege. 
Chubb 's conscience was weak. It accused him of wrong doing in 
regard to these vindictive people and he dared not hold out against 
them as he was not of the stuff of which heroes are made. Shortly 
before the siege, in a time of peace, Chubb and his men having en- 
gaged in a free and friendly conversation with the Indians, without 
any provocation, fell suddenly upon them with their weapons, kill- 
ing some and wounding others. The Indians in the struggle acted 
only in self-defence." 

The Scotchman glanced around the table as if he had made a 
point that no one could refute and then continued: "After the cap- 
ture of Fort VvT'illiam Henry, the French soldiers, on entering, found 
an Indian in irons. The savage was half-starved and in a miserable 
condition, having suffered greatly from his long imprisonment. Had 
kindness and justice been meted out in these cases, what a return 
there would have been. I repeat it: 'Do an Indian a kindness and 
he will never forget it'." 

"Chubb did a kindness to the Indians in surrendering the fort, 
and they never forgot it," said my husband with mock gravity. 
"Shortly after the siege the grateful savages visited Chubb and 
brought away his scalp as a reminder of his kindness. ' ' 

"If the brutes would wreak their vengeance only on the ones who 
had injured them, it would not be so exasperating. But what excuse 
can they give for so brutally treating Thomas Giles and family?" 



282 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

said Dunbar. "The story is best told in the words of John Giles who 
was taken captive. He says : ' It was on the morning of that memora- 
ble day when Fort William Henry was captured, August 4th, 1696. 
With my father and two elder brothers I went up to the Falls to 
work at haying in a field which my father owned. We labored until 
noon and took our dinner at a farmhouse near. We had just finished 
our repast when suddenly firing was heard from the direction of the 
fort. My father was disposed to interpret the occurrence favorably, 
and so remarked to us, but his conversation was cut short by a volley 
of bullets from a party of Indians, who had been hitherto concealed, 
awaiting the signal from the Fort to begin the massacre. The sav- 
ages numbered some thirty or forty, who, now rising from ambush, 
finished their work in a few minutes, killing or capturing all except 
Thomas, my oldest brother, who made his escape unhurt. My father 
was mortally wounded. My brother ran one way and I another. 
Looking over my shoulder I saw a stout fellow, in war-paint, pursu- 
ing me with a gun and a tomahawk glittering in his hand. Just then 
I stumbled and fell, but the Indian did me no injury. Tying my 
arms he bade me follow him. 

" 'We soon came up to my father. He was deathly pale, the blood 
gushing from many wounds, and it was with difficulty that he stag- 
gered along. I saw two men shot down on the fiats and one or two 
knocked on the head with hatchets. Then the Indians brought two 
captives, a stranger and my brother James, who, with me, had endeav- 
ored to escape by running from the house when we were first at- 
tacked. At length the savages were ready to start. We marched 
about a quarter of a mile and then made a halt. Here they brought 
my father to us. They tried to tell him that those were strange In- 
dians who shot him and that they were sorry for it. My parent 
replied that he was a dying man and wanted no favor of them, but to 
pray with his children. This being granted, he recommended us to 
the protection and blessing of God Almighty; then gave us the best 
advice and took his leave from this life, trusting in God that we 
should meet in a better land. 

" 'The Indians led him aside. I heard the blows of the hatchet, 
but neither groan nor shriek. To behold my father, bleeding and suf- 
fering, and to know that his life had been ended so brutally, was 
nothing to seeing my mother and two young and tender sisters, the 
younger only four years of age, taken captives'." Here Colonel 
Dunbar paused. 

"Did they escape?" queried John. 

"They did, my boy, all but one," answered the Colonel. "After 
sufi'ering much with the Indians for many years, the mother and 
daughters were finally restored to their friends. Of the two sons, 
James and John, the former, after suffering great hardships, made 
his escape. Unfortunately he was taken prisoner again by the In- 



Mrs. North's Story 283 

dians and tortured to death at the stake by a slow fire. John, the 
narrator of this story, was finally set at liberty." 

The Colonel talked right on with no softening of the lines of the 
story. 

"I hope they won't catch me," said little George McFarland with 
a horrified face, snuggling close to his mother. The fond parent 
placed a protecting arm about her child and whispered soothing 
words, and then said aloud, "I think death would be far preferable 
to captivity among the Indians." 

My husband hastened to give the talk a humorous turn. Leaving 
the table and approaching the fireplace he said: "Draw up your 
chairs, friends, and I will tell you how old Sim McCobb routed the 
Indians with a prayer. Sim was such a profane man he would make 
the shivers chase each other up and down your spine. His conversa- 
tion made the war-whoop sound tame. When he passed along the 
street, people were tempted to close their windows. 

"McCobb was in his back yard sawing wood one morning when 
he heard the yell of the Indians. Then and there he dropped down 
upon his knees. 'Dear Lord,' he said, 'I never prayed before, but if 
you will save me just this once, I '11 pray more and swear less. ' There 
was a pause in the prayer, and the savage cries drew nearer. Sim 
became impatient and continued his prayer quite emphatically. 'If 

you don't hurry up, Lord, there'll be a big row here soon.' 

Then the prayer became so expressive that the Indians became terror- 
stricken and took to their heels." 

"Now, Colonel," said my husband, after the laughter had sub- 
sided, "I'm going to ask you to tell us some more about Pemaquid 
if you will promise not to drag the Indians into it. The minute a 
redskin shows his head, I shall be tempted to use some of McCobb 's 
ammunition on him." 

"I promise," said the Colonel smiling, "and will try and give 
you the history from the beginning. 

"The word Pemaquid, to whose waters the ships of the English 
nation came for business before Plymouth had a beginning, signifies 
'long point.' Here to the southeast is the large island of Monhegan; 
to the southwest, Rutherford's Island, so named from Rev. Robert 
Rutherford. Those who first became acquainted with the na- 
tives of this region, speak of a Bashaba or Great Ruler. The countrj^ 
over which he ruled was called Mavooshen. His chief residence is 
said, by some, to have been Pemaquid. 

"The first fort was built in 1630 and seems to have been intended 
rather as a protection against the bold and reckless pirates who were 
beginning to infest the coast, than against the Indians, who were in 
the main, friendly. 

"Dixy Bull and Captain Kidd were the most prominent of these 
sea-robbers. This fort was only a stockade but was well constructed 



284 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

and mounted with seven cannon. Its site, very probably, was the 
same as that on which all the other forts have been successively built. 
Fort William Henry, raised at a great expense in 1692 by Sir 
William Phipps, was of tremendous strength for those daj^s. That 
we know, was partially destroyed by the French and Indians in 1696. 
I came over here in 1729, and, as governor of the place, considered 
it my duty to repair the Pemaquid Fort. The walls were found to 
be in tolerably good condition, and the work was finished the follow- 
ing year and called Fort Frederic, for the Prince of Wales. The 
work was done at the expense of the British government. I was 
aided in this w^ork by a surveyor from Nova Scotia, by name of 
Mitchell. 

"Having completed the fort we formed a magnificent plan of 
operations for the improvement of the place, and began work upon it 
with great energy. We laid out the territory between the Muscongus 
and Sheepscot rivers into three townships, which I named after three 
English noblemen of the day, — Townsend, Harrington and Walpole. 
In the meantime, I caused a proclamation to be made in the King's 
name of my intention in regard to the place, inviting settlers from 
any part of the country, promising to supply them with lands on 
easy terms, and, in some cases at least, support for their families for 
a limited time. In the vicinity of Fort Frederick we laid out the 
plan of a city, named Jamestown, in honor of James II, and caused 
a considerable part of the territory in the three towns mentioned, 
to be divided into lots of convenient size, which were to be appropri- 
ated to actual settlers. Sales of land were frequent. Sometimes I 
gave away land to promote emigration. Some have found fault with 
the place, but we cannot expect to find the luxuries of home in a new, 
uncultivated country. Nevertheless there are plenty of opportunities 
here. 

"Pemaquid has good harbors and bays; abundance of fish is found 
here ; cod and shad are taken on the coast ; salmon and alewives are 
found in the spring in most of the rivers, the catching and curing of 
fish being the chief industry. Wild fowl are common, both ducks 
and geese. Trading with the natives for beaver and other furs, adds 
something to the general business. The country affords immense 
stores of timber and wild fruits abound." The Colonel paused for 
an instant and then continued in the same optimistic strain: "Agri- 
culture is not so successful on account of the sterility of the soil, but 
that will improve in time." 

"When did the Rev. Robert Rutherford arrive in this country?" 
I inquired. "He came over as chaplain to me in 1729," answered 
Dunbar. "Rutherford was an Episcopalian and most of the people 
here are warmly attached to the Established Church." The Colonel 
paused, then looking at my husband said : "I think it would be safer 




The State Tower at Pemaquid 
A tablet bears the followinsr inscription: Commemorative to the Early European 
Settlement in this Locality which was the Resort of the White Men from the Earliest Period 
of the History of New England, this Tower was Erected by the State of Maine in 1908, upon 
the Site of the Greater Flanker of Fort William Henry, built in 16.i2 and near the Spot where 
Pemaciuid Fort Stood in 1(531, Fort Charles in 1677 and Fort Frederick in 1729. 

Frederick O. Conant 
F"rank D. Nichols 
Austin W. Pease William B. Patterson 

Architect Commissioners 




Old Fort William Henry, 1696, as described by Early Maine Historians 



Mrs. North's Story 285 

'to conclude my talk with this fact, so as not to waste any of McCobb's 
ammunition!" 

« * * 

The balmy spring came on apace. Often Jeannette and I visited 
the little nooks and comers for which Pemaquid is noted. We 
walked along the sand and pebbly beach enjoying the scenery; the 
clear blue heavens above, the great expanse of water beyond; ver- 
dant fields sloping to the sunny south and the huge ridges of granite 
ledges to the east and west. About this time the Youngs came to 
Jamestown. Jeannette was with her own family and I was feeling 
lonesome when my husband entered and started a conversation which 
was both interesting and diverting. 

"Governor Belcher visited Pemaquid today," he said. "His ob- 
ject was to learn in person, the condition of the place and its 
strength; and especially to use what influence he might to keep the 
Indians quiet and to protect them from wrong on the part of the set- 
tlers." My husband hesitated, looking thoughtful, then he contin- 
ued: "I believe Belcher will make a better governor than David 
Dunbar. The greatest mistake the Colonel made, was in not giving 
the settlers who held their possessions under him, clear titles to their 
lands; they received from him neither deeds nor leases." 

My husband sighed and added: "Poor David, he met with many 
reverses. With the view of obtaining the governorship of New 
Hampshire he went to England but was not successful. He was 
thrown into prison but was later liberated by some of his friends. 
Broken by disappointment and disgrace, he soon after died. 

"Today, Belcher spoke in warmest tones of the improvements he 
had witnessed here and of the natural advantages and future pros- 
pects of Pemaquid. At the governor's recommendation, provision 
was made by the Legislature for continuing a garrison at this place. 
For this purpose the fort at Winter Harbor has been dismantled and 
the officers and soldiers with the artillery and stores of all kinds, 
transferred to Fort Frederick. A number of the eastern Indians 
have been at the fort for the past few days, probably by previous 
appointment, and an informal conference has been held, the Indians 
expressing a desire for a long continued peace. The governor enter- 
tains them in the kindest manner, much to their satisfaction. They 
finally left for their homes in excellent good humor." 

A few days later my husband was conversing again on the same 
subject ; he said : " In spite of all his care Belcher cannot but observe 
a growing antipathy between the two races, and has begun to take 
measures of precaution against the coming struggle which he plainly 
foresees. Various measures have been adopted to pacify the natives 
in the hope of avoiding a rupture, but at the same time means are to 
be provided for repairing several of the forts along the coast includ- 
ing the one here." 



286 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

In due time our family with all the household goods were installed 
in the fort. Among the families there we found the McFarlands. 
"My husband is confined to his bed by a severe illness but is anx- 
ious to talk with you and your husband," said Mrs. McFarland. 

We were surprised to find our friend so helpless. In answer to 
a remark made by my husband on the expected attack of the Indians, 
the sick man said weakly, though bravely, with a twisted smile, — "I 
won't give up the fort but will fight the savages to a finish!" 

Mrs. McFarland had been in the sick room some time when she 
said to me aside : ' ' Would you mind remaining in the room a short 
time, as I wish to go to the garden for a few vegetables for 
dinner?" I readily consented, but could not forbear expressing my 
anxiety regarding her safety. "It is but a short distance from the 
fort, — just in sight, and I can easily get back," she remarked lightly. 
I could not shake off my fears, and approached the window. As I 
looked in the direction of the garden, imagine my horror when I saw 
an Indian partially concealed in the bushes, scarcely a gunshot from 
my friend. Mrs. McFarland did not appear to see her enemy, but 
stepped slowly away for a few seconds, as if to continue picking, and 
then began to run for her life. The Indian rushed from ambush and 
fired upon her. She fell forward upon her face. I stood by the 
window paralyzed, speechless, expecting every moment to see the 
prostrate woman's scalp removed by the hideous tomahawk that the 
savage was now flourishing madly. Imagine my surprise to see Mrs. 
McFarland spring to her feet; the next moment I was horrified to 
see the Indian sieze her by the arm, and to hear her frightful screams. 
I saw her break away and start again in the direction of the fort. 
She was now within range of the guns. The guards had been aroused 
by her shrieks, so that any nearer approach on the part of the red- 
skin would have been particularly dangerous, and my friend was soon 
within the gates. 

The bullet had merely grazed her shoulder, and as the slight 
wound was dressed, she exclaimed: "My apron became untied and 
stepping upon it, I stumbled." She paused for a moment, — very- 
pale, and then added reverently: "I can only look upon my deliver- 
ance as the work of God ! ' ' 

"I thought you did not see the Indian at first, you stepped away 
so slowly and with such apparent unconcern," I said. 

"I knew that to attempt at once to run for the fort would be 
almost sure death," she answered quietly. 

* * * 

August brought its labors afield in Pemaquid and the grain was 
garnered again. The men worked at a distance with their muskets 
at hand in case of an attack. Excepting Solomon McFarland, only 
women remained in the fort. One day the Indians, expecting to gain 
admittance before the return of the men, came slyly upon us at noon 



Mrs. North's Story 287 

and surrounded the enclosure. All within was confusion ; we rushed 
hither and yon screaming hysterically and moving as if by no will 
of our own. ]\Irs. McFarland was the first to regain her composure 
if, indeed, she had ever lost it. " 'The Lord's arm is not shortened 
that it cannot save'," she said, taking her station by one of the big 
guns, "Let us obey orders." 

Somewhat calmed by this brave example, we became aware that 
the sick man was addressing us. ' ' We have no need to fear for our- 
selves but for those outside. The savages can make no impression 
upon these stone walls in the little time they have. They will soon 
retire at a distance and lay in wait for the men when they come to 
dinner." Not noticing our despairing gestures at this last remark, 
the Scotchman continued, partially rising, "Be brave, my lassies, the 
Lord will surely help thee ! Lend a hand to the loading, and I will 
do the rest. ' ' Thus encouraged with the assistance of her daughter, 
Mrs. McFarland loaded the cannon. Mr. McFarland rose from his 
bed and discharged it at the barricade where the Indians had re- 
tired, killing one of them on the spot. Soon some of the men, proba- 
bly alarmed by the report of the cannon, began to return, but to get 
into the fort in the face of the enemy was not an easy matter. How- 
ever, they understood the character of the foe, and managed with so 
much caution, as well as courage, that all but one at length succeeded 
in gaining entrance without serious injury. One, James Little, was 
killed and scalped. 

The latter part of the afternoon a lad about the size of my boy 
came running into the fort. At first I thought it was John returned 
from our home where, in the early morning, he had gone to get some- 
thing I valued. I was beside myself with worry and listened to the 
strange boy's story with ever increasing fears. 

"I was on a large fishing vessel with thirteen hands," said the lad. 
"We were lying in Pemaquid Harbor, waiting for a favorable wind, 
when we concluded to make an excursion to the Falls. While busily 
engaged in fishing, a party of Indians suddenly sprang upon us, kill- 
ing all the men. I fled around the head of the bay and made my 
escape to the west side of the harbor. Several of the savages pursued 
me, but I concealed myself in a stack of hay on the Sproul place and 
they passed by without discovering me." Silence fell between us 
and then the lad added: "I suppose the two McFarland boys who 
were so brutally assaulted by the Indians on John's Island to-day 
were relatives of the McFarlands here." 

"McFarland boys — brutally assaulted?" I repeated in bewilder- 
ment. "That must be Solomon McFarland 's boys. Tell me all you 
know about it!" I exclaimed, as in m.y excitement I took the lad by 
the arm and shook him rudely. 

"They were at work on the Island, when the Indians fell upon 
them. Walter, I believe that was the elder's name, was carried into 



288 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

captivity, the younger was barbarously butchered." Later in the 
day this story was confirmed. John, my boy, arrived home safely. 
When Mrs. McFarland heard the fate of her children, she walked 
the floor wringing her hands. For the first time I saw my friend 
lose her self-control. ' ' Oh, my precious babe ! My little George so 
cruelly murdered!" she cried out. ''And my dear Walter to meet 
such a fate ! But my husband — how can we keep it from him ? ' ' 

Too late for thought of that. Mr. McFarland in the next room 
had heard his wife's words. There came the sound of a fall and we 
found him half way to the door, unable to speak or move. That day 
had brought too many terrible things and he never rallied from this 
final shock to recognize even his half-crazed wife. The next week 
another newly-made grave was added in the green hillside by the sea. 

The evening of the memorable day on which Fort Frederick was 
attacked, we missed the cows that always came home before dark. It 
was now late and William Fossette set out to search the woods for 
them. We afterwards learned that the Indians had purposely de- 
tained the animals and then lay in ambush where persons seeking 
for them would be likelj^ to pass. The unfortunate man was found 
the next morning, only a little distance away, shot and scalped. He 
was interred near Fort Frederick with our other beloved dead. 
William Fossette had endeared himself to all who knew him. 

During the next three years the savages continued their depreda- 
tions. Houses were burned, crops destroyed and there was a great 
lack of food. Many fled to Falmouth. In the year 1748 by the 
treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, peace was restored between England and 
France. The fifth Indian war came to an end, occasioning much joy 
in this frontier region. The savages became peaceful and captives 

were restored to their homes. 

* * * 

The following week on a bright, sunshiny afternoon, as I was ar- 
ranging flowers in the hall, the knocker sounded and I opened the 
door. I stood there dumb, but there was no need to fear. It was 
Alexander Fossette. "You!" I exclaimed, "safe and well?" Over- 
whelmed with relief and joy for Jeannette, I sank into a chair, 
motioning him to a place beside me. He bowed courteously, with the 
natural grace of the French Huguenot. He spoke with a slightly 
foreign accent, and his voice was rich and pleasing, according well 
with the frank, handsome face. 

"After your departure I became restless, and decided to follow 
you to this country," he said, "but it was some time before I could 

make up my mind" there was an awkward pause and he added, — ■ 

"some time before I could earn money enough. However, spurred 
on by faith and hope and an affection which no time could dim, I 
toiled and saved sufficient means to come in search of Jeannette. On 
my way here I visited at Martinique, a branch of the Fossette family, 



Mrs. North's Story 289 

John and Mary, who fled to that place during the persecution of the 
French Huguenots. A descendant of this family, little Alexander 
Hamilton, I am pleased to claim as a namesake. At length I reached 
this country. At Philadelphia I met certain fur traders who had 
sold goods to Mr. North and learned from them that your family 
had moved to a place in Maine called Pemaquid. Not far from here 
I was captured by the Indians and carried along with them in the 
capacity of a truck horse. As they proceeded on their way, they pil- 
laged and burned houses, and the slaughter was murderous." 

He paused, and then added sadly: "While in Philadelphia, one 
of the traders told me of my brother's death at the hands of the In- 
dians several years ago. "We have all suffered much from them — but 
it is useless to dwell upon the past. ' ' He walked to the window look- 
ing out, then turning abruptly, said anxiously: "Do you think Jean- 
nette's parents still retain their hatred for me and will continue to 
withhold their consent to our marriage?" 

"Hardships have proved a blessing in disguise and cured them 
of their ancestral pride and folly," I answered. "They have not 
found the luxuries of their old home here at Jamestown, but — " I 
paused, debating in my mind how to proceed. 

"Does Jeannette still care for me?" he interposed. "I realize 
that a girl with her attractions would naturally have admirers." 

"I am not quite sure whether she has made a decision or not, but 
'Faint heart ne'er won fair lady','' I laughingly said. 

"Thank you, Madam North, I will try to be brave as well as 
true." 

I then gave Alexander Fossette a cordial invitation to remain at 
my home until his love affair should be settled, promising him an 
interview with my niece as soon as it could be arranged. He grate- 
fully accepted, but decided to remain at the fort until I had pre- 
pared Jeannette for the meeting. After his departure I called at 
the Youngs' to intercede for him. Hurrying home I met Jeannette 
and took her along with me for tea. 

I was wondering how I should break the news of Alexander's 
return, when suddenly there was a rustling of the hemlock boughs 
and the lover swung himself to the rocks just below. 

"Jeannette, I must know! Do you yet love me or is there an- 
other?" 

The girl could not speak for tears. 



WHEN COLONEL ARNOLD WAS MAJOR 
COLBURN'S GUEST 




When Colonel Arnold was Major Colburn's Guest 

By THEDA CARY DINGLEY 

HE WOODED slopes of the Kennebec Valley were 
bright with all the autumn colors. 

It was the afternoon of a late September day in 1775. 
Major Reuben Colburn stood before the door of his home 
in Gardinerston, watching the distant bend of the river. 
A little way above, and just hidden from view by a 
knoll, lay Agry's Point. Here was located the Major's 
ship-yard, and the only sounds which broke the stillness of the quiet 
afternoon were the noises of much hammering and sawing which 
came from it. Nearly all the men in the community, besides about 
thirty Minute Men in the command of Oliver Colburn, the Major's 
brother, were working there under the supervision of Thomas Agry, 
a ship-wright, who had settled some years before near the Colburns. 
Major Colburn's lands stretched for a considerable distance along 
the river, so that much of the woodland over which he gazed, and the 
cleared fields, brown with stubble after the harvest, were his own. 
From his father, who had a settler's grant, he had received two hun- 
dred and fifty acres, but that seemed so little in a country where 
there was more land to be had than anything else, that about two 
years before he had bought for himself two and a half square miles 
more. On a bluff on the east bank of the river he had built a large 
and substantial house after the colonial style. 

Reuben Colburn was an ardent patriot. Since the news of Lex- 
ington and of Bunker Hill had reached him, he had kept in as close 
touch with affairs in Boston as the very limited mail service of his 
time would permit. Moreover he was one in whom General Wash- 
ington placed great confidence, and three times during the summer 
he had gone on horseback to Cambridge, then the headquarters of 
the Continental Army, once being specially summoned there that 
Washington might consult him ; and he was a member of the commit- 
tee of safety of Massachusetts. 

When he returned from the last trip early in September, he im- 
mediately conferred with Thomas Agry, and the result was that 
shortly afterward, a great hurrying and bustling began down at 
Agry's Point, and it had continued ever since. They were building 
bateaux, a kind of rivermen's boat, pointed at the ends, flat-bot- 
tomed, and drawing very little water. About two hundred of them 
lay on the shore now, all ready to be placed in the river, and near 
by was a profusion of oars, paddles, and setting poles. The Major 
had been promised forty shillings for every one of those boats, but 
neither he nor any of his descendants ever received a single penny. 
Major Colburn was not in the least insensible to the beauty of 



294 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

the scene before him, but it was not the landscape which attracted 
his attention on that particular afternoon. For several days past, 
he had alternately watched the building of the boats and the bend in 
the river, but so far nothing had appeared to reward his vigilance, 
except occasionally the canoe of some Indian. But before the sun 
set on this particular day he saw what he was looking for. Around 
the curve of the shore, a schooner, with all sails set, came slowly into 
view. Slowly — very slowly, she drew nearer, for there was little 
wind, and her crew were using oars to aid her progress. Up the river 
she crept, past Reuben Colburn's house, past Agry's Point. Work 
in the ship-yard stopped as the men watched her and cheered. 

"The Colonel certainly isn't on that one," the Major said to 
himself, as the schooner came to anchor and furled her sails. "The 
rest of them will be up to-morrow," and he turned and entered the 
house. 

"The transports are somewhere in the river, the Britannia has 
just anchored out here, ' ' he said to Mistress Colburn, who was busy 
with the preparations for supper. 

The next morning the Colburn kitchen was almost as busy a place 
as the ship-yard, though of course in a far different way. The hos- 
pitality of the family was boundless at all times ; still it required no 
great penetration to see that something unusual was going on. 
Bright and early the brick oven had been heated and filled with 
loaves of bread. On the spit before the great fire-place hung a 
roast and some plump chickens, and the kettle boiling on the crane 
contained a whole ham. 

The Major was right about the transports. The next day another 
sail appeared in the river, and then another. Everybody who lived 
anywhere in sight of the river gazed in amazement. It was a specta- 
cle which led some of them to doubt the evidence of their own eye- 
sight. Never before it is safe to say, had a craft of that size dis- 
turbed the waters of the Kennebec. 

But there they were, the Swallow, the Broad Bay, the Admiral, 
and all the rest, slowly working their way up, and anchoring one bj' 
one, until before sunset of the twenty-second of September, eleven 
transports with eleven hundred men on board lay in the river. 

From one of the ships a boat was lowered and rowed rapidly to 
the landing-place below Major Colburn's house. Two men stepped 
out. One of them showed by his uniform that he was an officer. 
Five years later he discarded that uniform for one of another 
country, but even then no person ever for an instant doubted his 
courage ; and a man about to embark on such an enterprise as his 
had need of it. The other was a mere youth, but he was eager and 
enthusiastic. He had actually risen from a sick-bed, against all 
advice and entreaty, to join the expedition. 

The Major had seen the boat and hastened to meet his guests — 
the two men who probably had the strangest and most varied careers 



When Colonel Arnold was Major Colburn's Guest 295 

of any who lived in their time — Benedict Arnold and Aaron Burr. 
Mistress Colburn, too, greeted them at the threshold, added her assur- 
ances that her home was at their disposal, and led them shortly to 
the dining-room, where the long table was ready for the evening 
meal. Two of the chickens and slices of the ham lay on platters, 
surrounded by other evidences of the morning's activity in the 
kitchen. 

After the meal was eaten, the Major and his guests sat before the 
fire which the cool September evenings made necessary, and dis- 
cussed until late into the night the plans they had made for the 
march to Quebec ; for that was the reason for all this unwonted com- 
motion, for the hasty building of so many boats, for the accumula- 
tion of such quantities of provisions, and the appearance of eleven 
hundred soldiers. 

Colonel Arnold took little Betty Colburn, whose exceeding fair- 
ness won his admiration, on his knee, and her brother Reuben sat 
close by on a little stool, vainly trying to understand the conversa- 
tion until he finally fell asleep. But what he did understand, kin- 
dled his imagination so much that the next morning he mustered his 
playmates who had gathered from far and near to see the ships and 
the soldiers and the great Colonel himself, and suggested, "Let's play 
go and take Quebec." 

Nothing loath, they armed themselves with sticks for muskets, 
and with Master Reuben at their head as commander, they marched 
off down an Indian trail into the woods. But before they had gone 
very far they met the enemy. A large black bear stood directly in 
the path. The mere sight of Bn^in routed the army, and the soldiers 
ran for the clearing as fast as their little legs could carry them. 

Arnold showed the map of the route to Quebec which he had 
first tried to obtain from Major Goodwin at Pownalborough, but who 
as a zealous royalist feigned entire ignorance on the subject. His 
son, however, w^as a patriot, and he found the map, and conveyed it 
secretly to the Americans. 

Benedict Arnold had been one of the first to suggest to the Con- 
tinental Congress the expedition to Quebec, but it was in all prob- 
ability on the strength of the information brought by Major Colburn 
that Washington finally decided to carry out the plan. The Major 
had been intrusted with the preparations for the rest of the journey 
from Gardinerston, which was the farthest point navigable for 
craft of any size. He had not only ordered the bateaux built, and 
engaged the supplies of beef and pork, but he had received orders to 
employ guides and gain all possible information concerning the 
rapids and carrying places along the Kennebec. 

Late that evening as they sat talking, the door opened, and three 
Indians stole noiselessly in. and ranged themselves on the long settle 
in the chimney corner. The door of Reuben Colburn's house was 
never closed to an Indian. They came when they wished; they ate 



296 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

in his kitchen when they were hungry ; if they were weary they slept 
before his fire wrapped in their blankets; and they departed when- 
ever it suited them to do so. 

Loyal to Major Colburn, thirty of the Kennebecs would have 
served in the American cause. Their squaws took them down the 
river in canoes, and the Major conducted them to Cambridge, but 
General AVashington, not liking the Indian methods of warfare in 
general, refused to avail himself of this addition to his forces, and the 
only Indians employed by the Americans in the war, were the guides 
who later conducted Arnold's army through the wilderness. 

The next day v/as a busy one. It was Reuben Colburn's habit 
to start every Saturday with his family for Georgetown, paddling 
thirty-five miles each way in a canoe, in order to attend Sunday ser- 
vices, for there was no church nearer, but with his guests to enter- 
tain, and so much business on hand, he was for once obliged to forego 
his usual custom. 

One of the first things Colonel Arnold did that morning was to 
inspect the bateaux at the ship-yard. He did not seem any too well 
pleased with the result, for in the haste of building, green pine had 
been used, and the boats did not present a very substantial appear- 
ance. But he said little, merely ordering twenty additional ones to 
be ready in a week's time. 

This interval was employed in making the final preparations for 
the march. A certain store-keeper in the neighborhood proposed to 
make the expedition a means of profit to himself. On learning that 
extra boats must be hastily supplied, he immediately charged twice as 
much as usual for the nails, and also put an exorbitant price on his 
flour, whereupon the soldiers promptly broke into his store and helped 
themselves to both. 

One man in the community did not look with favor on the under- 
taking. This was James Winslow, whose Quaker principles would 
not permit him to serve his country as a soldier, though he and his 
son did make fifty paddles for the boats. Many of Arnold's men 
wore on their caps the motto, "Liberty or death," Winslow regarded 
them with scorn. "You'll get the latter," said he. 

The officers in command were much impressed with the beauty 
of the region they were passing through, especially Captain Henry 
Dearborn, who declared that when his country was free from Eng- 
land, he should come and make his home near the Kennebec. He 
kept his word, though he continued to serve his country after that, 
for at different times he was Secretary of M"ar, Major-General, Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the Army, Collector of Customs at Boston, and 
Minister to Portugal. 

Arnold spent the latter part of the week with Captain James 
Howard at Cushnoc, now Augusta. Captain Howard had been the 
commander of Fort Western in the time of the French and Indian 
Wars, when block-houses were a necessity for the protection of the 
settlers. 




Where Arnold^s Transports Anchored 





J**" ^^r^ 



The Colburn Home and the Memorial of the Expedition 



When Colonel Arnold was Major Colburn's Guest 297 

By the twenty-ninth of September, the preparations were com- 
pleted, and part of the army had already been sent off. Arnold now 
set out in a canoe to overtake the head of it. He wrote General 
Washington a full account of the journey since he had left Newbury- 
port, and added that in twenty days more he expected to reach 
Quebec. 

For safety, forty-five days' provisions had been taken on the 
march. So far all had gone well, and all had continued to go fairly 
well until the army came to Norridgewock Falls, though immense 
labor was required to reach that point. Several times rapids made it 
necessary to carry the bateaux and supplies for some distance. Ar- 
nold's fears about the boats had been fully realized. They had begun 
to leak badly already; many of them had been wrecked, and it was 
necessary to patch the rest. 

That was difficulty enough, but it was after they left Norridge- 
wock Falls that their worst sufferings began, such suffering as an 
army has rarely endured. As the boats began to leak, the provisions 
became water-soaked. The dried fish had spoiled and had to be 
thrown away. Other dried food had absorbed water and burst the 
casks in which it was packed. The salt beef, too, put up in hot 
weather was worthless. There was little food left fit to be eaten, 
except flour and pork. 

They were soon reduced to half a pint of flour for a day's rations. 
Worst of all they were now entering the unbroken wilderness, where 
there were no means of procuring more food, and cold weather was 
fast coming on. Before they reached the headwaters of the Dead 
River, the last of the supplies were gone. Weakened by hunger and 
threatened with actual starvation, they hauled the bateaux upstream 
for miles, wading in the icy cold water. Many of them walked bare- 
footed in the snow. For forty miles of the distance, they carried the 
boats on their shoulders, over hills and through swamps. 

Some days they had nothing to eat but the water in which they 
had boiled their moccasins and cartridge belts. Even the few dogs 
were eaten, though the men cried like children when the order was 
given to sacrifice the pet dog belonging to Colonel Dearborn. The 
only one that escaped was an English blood-hound belonging to the 
Indian girl, Jacataqua, who had a^^'companied them from Cushnoe, 
and he was spared because he had been trained to hunt and occa- 
sionally caught a bird, or some small animal that the men could eat. 

Before they reached Dead River, Lieutenant-Colonel Roger Enos' 
battalion abandoned the expedition. Enos was tried afterwards hy a 
court martial but was acquitted. 

As the bateaux began to go to pieces and it became difficult to 
transport even what supplies they had, they buried part of their am- 
munition. Years afterward, two iron-bound chests were discovered, 
one at the mouth of the Dead River, containing three thousand bul- 
lets, and another in the north branch of the same river containing 
two thousand more. 



298 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

The twenty days on which Arnold had planned stretched to 
forty, and during most of that time, the soldiers saw no human being 
aside from their own comrades. By the middle of November, fifty- 
four days from the time they left Cambridge, Arnold's march to 
Quebec, one of the most fruitless undertakings in history, was over. 

As they neared the localities where the people were loyal to the 
British, Aaron Burr, who through all the terrible journey had shown 
the utmost bravery and endurance, disguised himself as a priest, and 
so well did he play his part, that he acquired the needful informa- 
tion to get the army through without arousing any suspicions. 

More than a hundred and twenty years afterward, up in the for- 
ests of northern Maine, in the region through which Arnold's army 
was known to have passed, there was found a piece of corroded metal, 
which on further examination appeared to be an old sword hilt. 
And then an old tradition was recalled, that somewhere in that very 
forest Benedict Arnold, in fording a stream, had stumbled and 
broken his sword. The next day he threw the hilt away, saying : "An 
army led by a commander with a broken sword is cursed." 

Down in Pittston, which was Gardinerston in those days, Reu- 
ben Colburn's home still stands by the Kennebec, and shows not the 
least sign of its hundred and fifty years. 

On a summer afternoon, one hundred and thirty-eight years from 
the time Arnold's transports anchored in the Kennebec, the old 
homestead presented a most festive appearance. It w^as the anni- 
versary of the landing of Arnold's troops there on their way to 
Quebec, which the people gathered on the lawn had come to celebrate. 

The guests passed in and out over the same threshold which the 
Major had crossed with his distinguished guests so many years be- 
fore. There was the same great fireplace before which the Major's 
friends, the Indians, often slept, and the quaint corner cupboard, 
which was his wine-closet ; and his old flint-lock musket stood in a 
corner. 

Before the house stood a monument in the form of a boulder, 
with a bronze tablet set in one side. On the tablet were these words : 

This tablet marks the headquartere of 

Colonel Benedict Arnold Sept. 21-23, 1775 

"When he was the guest of Major Reuben Colbum 

During the transfer of the army of 1100 men and 

supplies from the transports to the 220 bateaux built by 

Major Colburn for the expedition to Quebec 

To commemorate this event this tablet is placed by 

Samuel Grant Chapter Daughters of the American Revolution. 

And there beneath the windows of the room where Benedict Ar- 
nold rested on his journey, hung the flag, which in a fit of jealousy 
he disgraced ; the act which brought him the contempt of a nation 
in spite of his braver}^ and of which he so bitterly repented. 



A MINISTER OF YE OLDEN TYME 



A Minister of Ye Olden Tyme 

By FANNY E. LORD 

A better preeste I trow that nowher non is, 
He waited after no pompe ne reverence, 
Ne maked him no spiced conscience, 
But Criste's lore, and his apostles twelve 
He taught, but first he folwed it himselve. 



jm 



^ 




HEN we children used to visit at grandfather's farm in 
the country, we always took our healthy, childish 
appetites with us. There was a big round table that 
turned back against the walls and made an armchair 
when not in use as a table. On this were set for us 
little plates of that dull, pinkish shade of red, found 
only in old crockery. Around the rim in white-raised 
letters were mottoes from Benjamin Franklin, of the worldly wis- 
dom which that famous philosopher always affected, and we children 
were earnestly enjoined to pay diligent heed to the precepts of this 
great and good man, so that we might become as wise in our genera- 
tion as he was in his. 

This was Avell enough for the more docile of the grandchildren, 
but I, my grandmother's namesake and much like her in tempera- 
ment and in disposition, rebelled openly, when the plate before me 
read: ''Always get up from the table with as good an appetite as 
when you sat down." 

These plates and an old leather-covered Bible, kept in a little 
square cubby hole of a closet, high up over the brick oven, were the 
only relics of the old home that my grandmother had inherited from 
her father, the Rev. John Strickland. She was the youngest of the 
family of twelve and there was probably not much to be divided 
among them. 

This Bible was worn with much reading and its leaves were yel- 
lowed with age. What attracted us most about it was its quaint 
wording. "We soon became accustomed to the long s so like f in 
our copy books, and it ceased to be funny to us ; but it was so queer 
that the Beatitudes all began with "Happy." 

"Happy are the peacemakers;" "happy are the pure in heart," 
and so on through all those wonderful beatitudes that have carried 
peace and comfort to all the pure in heart and to the peacemakers 
down through the centuries since those divine words were spoken. 

The sight of this old Bible always seemed to unloose my grand- 
mother's tongue. All through his long and arduous life of eighty- 
two years, her father had searched these Scriptures and had found 



302 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

there inspiration for his tasks, and comfort and support for the heavy 
responsibilities of his sacred office. 

She, too, read and pondered deeply the precious words of the 
Book, for the uplift it gave her, in her daily round of monotonous 
duties. It was her guide of life, as it was the staff and stay of her 
beloved father, who was an influence and a power for good in the 
State of Maine in his day. A true pastor of his charge. 

The records of him are few and brief, a pargraph or two in the 
archives of Yale of which he was an honored son and from which he 
graduated in 1761 at the age of twenty; a few in the annals of the 
towns where he ministered and served at the altar. 

He was born at Hadley, Mass., Sept. 14 (0. S.) 1741. Died at 
Andover Oct. 4, 1823, at eighty-two years of age. Preached at Oak- 
ham, Mass. ; in the settlements in Maine ; Hudson, N. H., Turner, 
Maine, and Andover, Maine. Married Patty, daughter of Captain 
Isaac and Martha Stone of Oakham, Mass. She died at Turner, 
Maine, 1805. 

If this brief record were all, it would hardly be worth while to 
transcribe it. But there are hints and glimpses into this life lived 
out so long ago, which reveal a character well worth knowing and 
which compel us to recast our fixed idea of what has crystalized in 
our minds as the stern, unyielding past and which make us realize 
that the human heart is the human heart, the world over, and beats 
the same in every age. 

My grandmother's stories of their home life were vivid and 
eagerly sought by her grandchildren. The one we especially en- 
joyed was about herself, at four years of age. Here is the story, not 
as she told it, but with the facts as we remember them. Her raci- 
ness of speech was peculiar to herself and cannot be reproduced. 

:^ * # 

It is high noon by the sun in the zenith, high noon by the short- 
ened shadows on the grass in the churchyard ; and if these dials had 
failed to record the hour, the minister's sermon, drawing to a close, 
would have proclaimed it, trumpet loud, with unquestioned accuracy. 

The Sabbath stillness of Turner village is broken only by the 
singing of birds and the patter of childish feet, as along the village 
street comes a quaint little figure, stumbling and tripping in her 
long skirt which is strangely out of proportion to the tiny waist and 
sleeves, by which her sturdy little arms are held fast as in the stocks. 

As she draws nearer, to our consternation we recognize Fanny, 
the merry, wilful little lassie of the Rev. John Strickland, who is at 
this hour in his pulpit in the meeting-house, preaching to an atten- 
tive and reverent people on how to guide their errant lives. 

The dress into which the plump figure of the child had refused 
to be forced and which was hopelessly ruined in the unequal strug- 
gle, is an exquisitely embroidered India christening robe, tender from 
repeated use and frequent launderings through many years. 



A Minister of Ye Olden Tyme 303 

Each one of the minister's large family had in turn been carried 
up the aisle robed in this beautiful garment, to the baptismal font 
and had there been consecrated to a life of unselfish service to God 
and man, with the fervent prayer that he or she might be brave 
to endure life's hardships to the end, and, clothed in tlie garment of 
Christ's righteousness be gathered at last to the mansions above. 

Not only the minister's twelve, and as years passed on, some of 
his grandchildren, too, had been consecrated in this robe, but many 
of the parishioners also had been free to use it. It had seen good 
service through many years and novv' it was ruined beyond redemp- 
tion. 

Through the subconscious mind of this last little ewe lamb of 
the pastor's flock, the idea had somehow filtered that this was a gar- 
ment of peculiar sacredness and veneration. Barely out of bab}'- 
hood, too young to attend divine w^orship, she was yet feminine to 
her heart's core. Watching for her chance, she escaped from the 
vigilance of her elder sister — who had been left at home to care for 
this eager, restless child, alwa.ys ready for mischief of any sort, — 
and at once instituted a thorough search for the christening robe. 
Her efforts were soon cro^\^led with success. 

Then began the valiant struggle to get into the narrow confines 
of the garment. The long skirt captured her fancy. In imagination 
she could see herself trailing its length along the garden paths. She 
pulled and tugged at the tiny waist and sleeves and when, at last, 
satisfied with her success, she ceased her efforts, the precious robe 
was one tissue of rags and tatters and slits ; there was barely enough 
left of the original fabric to hold the rags together. But what dif- 
ference did that make? Suddenly the child, radiant in the soul-sat- 
isfying consciousness of being charmingly attired, formed the reso- 
lution of going to meeting. 

Very cautiously she slipped out of the rarely used front door, in 
a tremor of fear lest she be detected, and thwarted in her plans. 
Pausing not, nor once looking back, she took her way to the meeting- 
house. Just inside, she hesitated a moment, bewildered. Recogniz- 
ing her sisters by the familiar bonnets rising above the pew railing, 
serene and unruffled, up the aisle she stumbled and tripped in the 
impeding skirt and with quite the manner of the grand dame, she 
entered the minister's pew, and, in her stateliest pose, sat down be- 
side one of her sisters, prepared to take her full part in the sacred 
service of the meeting-house, at this, her first appearance there. 

The sister, in her dismay, had the presence of mind to fold her 
shawl about the disreputable, dilapidated little figure and shield her 
from the scandalized gaze of a curious congregation, until she could 
take the dear, naughty little sister home to the parsonage. To be 
punished? Oh, no. 

To be sure, these were the days when parental discipline is reputed 
stern and unyielding, but the Rev. John Strickland was as far in ad- 



304 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

vance of his times, in his tenderness and fairness toward children, as 
in his theology. His sympathies were always with the restless youth 
of his parish. 

"Young people must have some recreation," he would say, "and 
dancing is as innocent as any." So his twelve children were all 
taught to dance. We are not told how his people received these lib- 
eral sentiments, but he was no weakling. If a thing was right, it was 
right. He would not have been out of place in our times. He would 
have fitted perfectly into the present day scheme of philanthropy 
which lays great stress on recreation for all ages and plenty of well- 
equipped playgrounds, under proper supervision, for the children. 

i)i » * 

A promise was sacred to him, however lightly given. Again we 
see the same little Fanny, who seems to be a genius for getting into 
the traditional kettle of hot water. She is sixteen years of age now, 
just as old as her mother was when she was married. She has the 
same feminine love of fine clothes that she manifested in her early 
childhood. And why not? This is the period when the minister's 
wife was expected to be the best dressed woman of the parish, to 
wear "real laces and silks that would stand alone." 

To-day our little maiden is very fetching in her close-fitting rid- 
ing habit — or Josie — of gray kerseymere, a delicate gray that sets off 
her black eyes and ruddy cheeks and creamy skin. She is going to a 
wedding with her father and has just mounted on the pillion behind 
him. A young man, bound for the same scene of festivities, rides up 
to the door, on a well-groomed steed. His look of dismay as he sees 
Miss Fanny already seated behind her father, is intercepted by the 
keen, alert minister. 

"My daughter, did you promise to ride to the wedding with this 
young man?" 

Vainly she coaxed and cajoled, — and she was an adept in the art, 
— no pleading availed, his daughter must, first of all, be true to her 
sacred word of honor, there was nothing more to be said. Very 
gently and gravely he lifted her from his horse and mounted her be- 
hind the waiting youth. And somehow our sympathy goes with the 
young man. If this is success, what is failure? 

Another story reveals his firmness and tender love to his chil- 
dren, and his fixed purpose that the best should be theirs at whatever 
cost to his own quivering heart. Present pleasure at the expense of 
future good never allured him. Sylvester, his ninth child, was born 
with club feet. Surgery was then hardly more than a name and 
anesthetics not yet discovered ; but he had heard that club feet had 
been made shapely by bandaging them soon after birth, before the 
cartilege had harclened, and keeping them night and day encased in 
unyielding wooden shoes — a long process and painful. The mother's 
heart shrank from the stern ordeal and refused to consent. But the 
father, looking into the future and seeing there the greater suffering 



A Minister of Ye Olden Tyme 305 

and torture of the child, forced to go through life humiliated by his 
deformity, gently but firmly took his stand. 

A great-hearted woman from a remote part of the parish took 
the baby to her home and for many long months cared for him and 
ministered to him. When he was returned to his parents, the little 
feet may not have been so shapely as modern medical science would 
have made them; Nature would never have mistaken them for her 
own artistic product ; still, with carefully fitted boots, they were not 
noticeably unlike those of the more favored brothers and sisters. 

It is the custom to decry heredity, yet among John Strickland's 
descendants the club foot has many times re-appeared, down to the 
present generation. 4f: * * 

Even among the brief and dry statistical annals of the towns, 
where he was settled, there are interesting and curious facts in- 
scribed. In the account of his installation at Turner — then not a 
town but a proprietary settlement, called Sylvester or Sylvester-Lon- 
don — the records, after having voted to call him as ''a gospel min- 
ister," read "Voted a call at fifty pounds salary and voted a further 
tax of thirty shillings on each original right to pay his salary. Voted 
that Mr. Strickland be allowed a reasonable time to visit his friends 
to the westward annually." (Westward here means Massachusetts 
and Connecticut). "And that he should have the common land five 
years, rent free." 

The vote, passed in a settlement not being considered legal, a 
number of men, among the proprietors, gave their bond "for fifty 
pounds, for his salary." This bond was to become null and void 
"when the town should be incorporated." 

This was the action of the township. The vote of the church and 
congregation was : " In consideration of the great importance of hav- 
ing stated means of grace, settled in this place, and having heard the 
Rev. John Strickland — a member of Salem presbytery — for some 
time, and being satisfied with his principles in doctrine and discipline, 
his ministerial gifts and moral character, do make choice of him as 
our minister." He was installed September 20, 1784, by the pres- 
bytery of Gray. And the records still farther say "After his settle- 
ment the church and town enjoyed peace for several years." 

The church increased to thirty members. It had been formed 
one month before his installation with a membership of fifteen — 
twelve men and three women ; a proportion strange and unf amiliat- 
to our day. But sectarian differences arose; several of the church 
and parish joined with others of the near-by to^vn of Buckfield and 
petitioned the General Court, as the Massachusetts Legislature was 
then called, for an act of incorporation as a Baptist Society. Soon 
a few more joined them. Then more went off as a Universalist 
society. Death and removal from town still farther decimated the 
following of Mr. Strickland. The few that remained entreated their 
pastor to stay by them. 



306 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

A hero and true blue as every Presbyterian should be, he con- 
sented to remain and generously relinquished such part of his sal- 
ary as the "property of those who had withdrawn was to the valua- 
tion of the Avhole town." Considering his large family, this was 
surely a heroic act of Christian faith and self-denial. If a gift is 
measured, as it should be, not by the amount given but by that which 
is left, as the widow's mite was measured by the Master, then 
this gift of the Rev. John Strickland was as munificent as any be- 
stowed by Rockefeller or Carnegie or any other of our multi-million- 
aires. Then, too, Continental money had depreciated and had be- 
come almost worthless. 

Soon after, affairs not improving but rather growing worse, the 
little handful of church members and parishioners who were left, 
thought it best to call an Ecclesiastical Council of the churches of 
Brunswick, Harpswell, Freeport and Topsfield. Each church was 
represented by its pastor and one delegate. They advised Mr. 
Strickland to try it for one year more, then if the difficulties re- 
mained, he should be free to ask for a dismissal and the church 
should grant it. At the same time, the Council, in view of this event, 
recommended the Rev. John Strickland as "a man of unimpeached 
character and sound in the faith." 

As things did not improve, he was granted a dismissal by the 
church and people. May 18, 1797. After his departure, according to 
the Turner town, records, "The town became a spiritual wilderness." 
Their affairs were finally carried to the Court of Sessions and there 
settled, complaint having been lodged there against them, "for neg- 
lecting to provide themselves with a public teacher of purity, mor- 
ality and religion." When a church was again formed in Turner, it 
was organized as a Congregational church, instead of Presbyterian as 
before. 

It is often only too true that one who has suffered persecution of 
any kind, especially religious persecution, is the most unsympathetic 
and intolerant of the belief of others. We see this among such good 
people as the Massachusetts Puritans. The Rev. John Strickland 
never hardened under his trials, his fine nature grew only the more 
mellow and tender and true. So when his daughter Lucy, ab.iuring 
the traditions under which she had been reared, became a Methodist, 
she was shielded in her home from the religious intolerance of the 
day. Except the good-natured raillery found in every large farail.y, 
she met with nothing like martyrdom for her new faith. The Meth- 
odists then were easily recognizable by the conspicuous plainness of 
their attire. The hair was brushed with aggravating smoothness 
down the cheeks over the ears. Her merry sisters, alive to anything 
humorous, teased her by telling her that she wasted far more time 
in smoothing her hair to the requisite flatness, than they did in shap- 
ing the most worldly and elaborate of puffs and curls. Farther than 
this their fun did not go. 



A Minister of Ye Olden Tyme 307 

We hear little of Patty Strickland, the wife of the Rev. John. One 
story of pre-revolutionary days has been handed down to her de- 
scendants, which reveals a human side of her character that greatly 
endears her to us. 

It was when the excitement ran high over the retention of the tax 
on tea. As in the families of all loyal patriots, the use of tea was 
strictly prohibited in the home of the minister. One of their gen- 
erous parishioners had given the minister's wife a goodly parcel of 
the much-prized, fragrant herb. Her husband reminded her that, 
as it was a matter of principle, none of the tea was to be used. Patty 
reasoned in her own mind, that as they had not bought the tea and 
therefore could not have paid the tax on it, it was quite right to use 
it. But the minister said "No! the principle at stake must be hon- 
ored. No tea shall be used in my home however come by, while the 
obnoxious tax remains unrepealed." Patty was silenced but not in 
the least convinced. No, not she. She was plainly a woman with a 
mind of her own and she proposed to use it. 

One fine morning the minister set out to make parish calls on sev- 
eral of the more remote members of his scattered flock in the outlying 
districts. On such occasions, he was accustomed to be gone all day. 
This was Patty's time. No sooner had her husband disappeared in 
the distance than she, putting an extra generous pinch of tea in the 
squat brown teapot and pouring upon it the water already bubbling 
and boiling on the hob, set it just inside the wide fireplace to brew. 
She could hardly wait until it was ready. 

Suddenly the good minister, who had forgotten something of im- 
portance, appeared in the doorway and tea and teapot flew up the 
wide, yawning chimney, propelled by a vigorous arm. The law of 
gravity brought the fragrant remnants down, hissing and spluttering 
and scattering the ashes over the "clean winged hearth," and the 
question of using taxed tea was forever settled in that household; 
principle and patriotism were not to be tampered or trifled with by 
any of its members. 

If it were ever fair to judge of a whole life by a single act, we 
might feel that Patty Strickland's conscience was more flexible and 
accommodating than that of her husband. But Patty was only a 
trifle past twenty years of age. One story more and only one has 
been passed on to her descendants. 

It was at that solemn hour that comes to every one of mortal birth, 
when all disguises drop away and the soul is revealed in its naked 
simplicity. 

Her last illness was agonizing. In the midst of a spasm of excru- 
ciating torture one of her daughters, bending over her, by words of 
endearment and sympathy, tried to show her how truly she entered 
into her suffering and how gladly she would bear every pain to give 
her release. Suddenly looking up into the daughter's face she burst 
out, in an ecstasy of triumphant joy: 



308 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

"Jesus can make a dying bed 
Feel soft as downy pillows are; 
While on his breast I lean my head 
And breathe my life out sweetly there." 

These are not the words of a weakling in intellect or in conscience. 
They ring true, like the victor's shout of triumph, when, after a life 
of training he bears away the palm of victory amid the rejoicing of 
his comrades. The height to which she attained could not be reached 

by a single bound. 

* * * 

The last twenty years of John Strickland's life M^ere spent in 
peace, among a people whom he loved and who, in turn, loved and 
venerated him; who could appreciate his broad views, his scholarly 
attainments and his unswerving fidelity and adherence to truth and 
honor and conscience. 

Andover, once called the gateway to the Rangeley lakes, is beauti- 
ful enough to be called the gateway of heaven and must have seemed 
especially so to him, coming from the turmoil and conflict of relig- 
ious differences and dissensions. 

His memory still lives there, fresh and green, with the worthy 
descendants of that sterling people. The public library which he 
helped to establish, was destroyed by fire. A list of the books remains 
to show how true was this son of Yale to the intellectual traditions 
of his beloved Alma Mater. Sylvanus Poor, the historian of Ando- 
ver, has written of him: "He was probably a Presbyterian and was 
a minister and a man much beloved and respected. He was my min- 
ister for twenty years." 

He might truthfully have added that he must have had financial 
ability that would have won him renown in Wall Street, else how 
could he, with his small salary, have brought up his large family to 
manhood and womanhood, well equipped for life? He and his fam- 
ily lived always the simple life, which made them strong to bear the 
burdens and endure the hardship and privations of their pioneer life 
and caused them to be immune to devastating disease. Death never 
entered that home but once — and that was when the mother went — 
during all the years of his pastorates, until he was taken, full of 
years and good deeds, to his well-earned rest. 

The old church at Andover where he preached so long ago, has 
been moved and set up in a more favorable spot and remodelled with 
exquisite taste, a worthy memorial of him. 

He died Oct. 4, 1823, and was buried where he would have chosen, 
among the people of his love in Andover, the beautiful little town in 
a cup-shaped valley, surrounded by mountains that must often have 
recalled to him those words of the inspired Hebrew poet of old: 
"As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round 
about his people from this time forth and even f orevermore. " 



A MAN AND A MAID 




A Man and a Maid 

By JESSICA J. HASKELL 

LL WAS stir and bustle at old Fort Western on the Ken- 
nebec that September day in 1775 ; for Arnold and his 
eleven hundred were coming up the river. From miles 
around had patriots gathered, from Cobbosseecontee, 
from Gardinerstown, to do honor to that valiant band. 
Perhaps patriotism was not unmixed with other mo- 
tives, for Captain Howard of the Great House could, 
and did, on occasion, set before his guests a feast worthy of a king, 
worthy even of the stout King George himself. 

The motley throng collected on the river bank and gazing down its 
winding current, looked, for the most part, far fitter for some quiet 
English village than for that wilderness country. Conspicuous 
among them were the Howards, "an exceedingly hospitable, opulent, 
polite family," their ideals and their clothes — from London town; 
William Gardiner in powdered wig and lace ruffles ; Major Colburu ; 
Colonel Gushing and a long list of lesser notables and their wives, 
all in holiday attire. 

At the left, with the company but not of it, silent in the midst 
of noise and laughter, one group accorded w^ell with wooded hill and 
quiet river, twenty or more Abenaki braves from Swan Island, 
picturesque in hunting garb. Perhaps none of all that company felt 
more interest and curiosity than did those dusky warriors, on whose 
island one of Arnold's ships in its passage up the river had come to 
grief ; but their stolid faces showed no trace of animation, their occa- 
sional guttural ejaculations no sign of fire within. 

Perhaps three paces in front of these silent braves stood their 
sachem, Jacataqua, a maiden scarce eighteen, in whom showed the 
best traits of her mingled French and Abenaki blood. Slender, lithe- 
some, with olive skin and dark, flashing eyes, her black hair in two 
heavy braids to the fringed tip of her leather hunting skirt, she might 
well arrest the admiring gaze of any man. So thought the good 
Squire Bridge of Pownalborough, as he turned to catch her hesitant 
question: "These Anglese for whom we watch, who are they?" 

"Soldiers who go to fight the English at Quebec," replied the 
Squire, then, turning to his neighbor, "Who comes with Arnold, 
Gushing, you should know?" 

"Why, where were you, man, when they passed Pownalborough?" 

"Over at Freetown. A neighbor broke his leg; tree fell on him." 

"Well, they say he has Roger Enos, a good, cautious man; Henry 
Dearborn; a Swede or a Dane, I'm not sure which, one Christian 
Febiger ; and, Oh, yes, the son of the President of the College of New 



312 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Jersey, Aaron Burr, a mere lad, who, gossip declares, rose from a 
sick bed to come. Arnold has a fine command, but these lads don't 
realize what they're attempting, the wilderness and winter coming 
on." 

"That's true, that's true, but we'll give 'em a good send-off here. 
There'll be a barbecue to-morrow, a big one." 

"Wonder who'll supply the meat?" 

Jacataqua had been following the colloquy with interest, and at 
the final question was on the point of speech, when a stir and a rustle 
and then silence drew her attention to Captain Howard, approaching 
with the more notable of his guests. It was upon the reckless, dash- 
ing Arnold that all eyes were turned. Few in that throng but knew 
far better than the young commander what hardships, what dangers 
he was to face. Jacataqua 's Abenakis stood in the same stolid silence, 
still a group apart; but the maiden herself, her vivacious French 
blood momentarily in the ascendant, slipped between the sturdy 
squires to a point of vantage from which she might gaze upon this 
warrior whom all men seemed to honor. One swift glance she gave 
the hero, then her black eyes met a pair as dark and flashing as her 
own, met and were held in an impassioned gaze that to the Indian 
maid lasted eons. The good Squire Bridge, who had puffed up to 
Jacataqua 's side, saw and smiled. 

"That, that Anglese," demanded Jacataqua, "who"" 

"Thet? Thet's young Burr, the one Gushing said got off a sick 
bed to come. And he'd better have stayed," he added, sotto-voce, 
"if the tales of his ways with the lasses are true. An Indian, even an 
Abenaki, is treacherous and ondependable." 

But Jacataqua had not heard his solilocpiy. Like a startled fawn 
she had slipped back to her people. Young Burr but waited to gain 
his genial host's attention to ask excitedly, "Who is that beauty?" 

"That's Jacataqua, half French, half Abenaki, sachem of the 
Indians of Swan Island. You passed the wigwams of her people on 
your way up the river. No settler, no warrior of her tribe is her 
equal in the hunt. But, my boy," he added kindly, "remember In- 
dian nature, even half French, is not to be trusted." 

His warning speech was wasted ; young Burr had vanished ! 

"Well, youth calls to youth," said the kindly Captain, "yet I 
fear no good will come of it." 

Meantime Aaron Burr was standing before the Indian princess; 
for the first and only time in his life at a loss before a woman. Nor 
was Jacataqua more at ease. Yet, primitive and direct, it was she 
who opened the conversation and opened it with a challenge. 
"These," with a wave of her brown hand toward Howard and the 
group of officers, "these want meat. You hunt with me? I win." 

More eagerly than he had ever accepted invitation from the most 
polished provincial hostess did young Burr pick up the challenge. 




I Cb 







A Man and a Maid 313 

Like two children they set off for Howard Hill, from whose sheltering 
woods predatory bears issued to spoil the Captain's corn. The steep 
ascent won, they gazed together upon the winding Kennebec in all 
its quiet beauty. Perhaps Burr was not to spend in all his varied 
later career a happier or a more carefree day than that in the wood- 
lands on Howard Hill. Jacataqua, at the call of youth, bubbled 
forth in irrepressible gayety. And that hunting trip was a distinct 
success from the utilitarian standpoint ; for three bears, a mother and 
her two cubs, bore witness to the maiden's unerring aim. 

Next day the three appeared, the "piece de resistance" of a feast 
as generous and as varied as epicure could wish. Venison, beef, pork, 
dried salmon, bread, corn, potatoes, melons, golden pumpkin pies, — 
all the wealth of wood and field, hospitably poured out be- 
fore the welcome guest. One wonders if the starving, dying soldiers 
above the Chaudiere, as they gnawed hungrily at moccasins and bul- 
let pouch ever saw in delirious vision that glorious feast at old Fort 
Western. A rum punch crowned the feast with toast and song. 
(That very punch bowl, china and of modest dimensions, still exists 
and was in Howard Hall when Mr. Gannett, descendant of Captain 
Howard, entertained the Connecticut Foot Guards in 1913 on land 
his ancestor once owned and over which Burr and Jacataqua had 
wandered in carefree abandon.) 

Of all these feasters none were so gay, none so joyous as were 
young Burr and the dusky Indian princess. Youth and warm blood 
were theirs ; no premonition of after days could sadden them. Burr 
was strongly drawn to the Indian maiden, interested and attracted by 
her beauty and by the romance of the situation ; Jacataqua, with all 
the strength of her wild and passionate nature yielded to the fasci- 
nation that Burr was to exercise at will, over all women. 

The three days of the army's stay at Fort Western were for the 
youth a pleasant diversion ; for the maiden, happiness unmeasured. 
Hunting trip succeeded hunting trip, the two were constantly to- 
gether. When the moment of departure came, Jacataqua pleaded 
to be allowed to follow the expedition with some of her people. Two 
white women, the wives of James Warner and Sergeant Grier of the 
Pennsylvania Corps, were to share their husbands' hardships and 
bravely does history say they acquitted themselves. Jacataqua 's skill 
in hunting, her knowledge of trails and carries, of roots and herbs, 
the woodcraft and boatcraft of her people — all could be of use to the 
expedition, all argued in her favor, so Arnold gave his consent, albeit 
with grave doubts of the outcome. 

Nowadays, with trolley or motor car, the trip from Fort Western 
in Augusta to Fort Halifax in Waterville, is but an hour's swift and 
pleasant progress. In 1775 with the hastily constructed bateaux of 
green pine, the heavy supplies and overloaded boats, the way was 
slow and painful. At Three Mile Falls, below Fort Halifax, the 



314 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

crews must wade to their waists always, often almost to their chins. 
At the foot of the falls, the bateaux must be unloaded and they and 
their contents carried on tired backs through the well nigh pathless 
forest till the rapids were safely skirted. Hunting trips still gave 
youth and maiden the opportunity to spend happy hours together, 
though Burr shirked no part of his share of hardship. His activity 
and willingness endeared him to the rank and file; his birth and 
breeding to their olficers. But that sunshine of universal approbation 
was not to continue. 

At Fort Halifax a welcome, not so lavish as that at Fort Western, 
but adequate and cordial, awaited the weary host. Colonel Lithgow 
was in command of the fortress and with him was his daughter Sarah, 
an acknowledged belle and toast. 

"The.se bateaux will be bringing you a beau," joked the old ser- 
geant, a privileged family friend. "But one lad brings his own 
lassie. Young Burr has with him, they say, the Indian princess, 
Jacataqua, sachem of Swan Island. For love of him alone she's fol- 
lowed many a weary mile." 

"\Yho is this Burr?" queried the fair Sarah, her nose at a scorn- 
ful angle. 

"flis father's president of the College of New Jersey. A fine 
family, but a wild lad, though a brave one ; and a way with the 
lasses, it seems." 

A slight sniff was the sergeant's only response, but his twinkling 
eyes noted the unusual care of the toilet in which the haughty lady 
helped her father receive his distinguished guests. 

As Burr entered the rough room he stopped short at the vision of 
loveliness before him and gazed with all his ardent heart in his dark 
eyes. But the great lady of Fort Halifax was as proud as the 
maiden of Fort Western had been eager. She hardly seemed to see 
the dazzled Burr, acknowledging the presentation with the briefest 
and coldest of murmurs. Inspired with sudden passion for the 
haughty beauty and little accustomed to rebuffs from the fair sex. 
Burr began a systematic wooing. His ardent missives, romantically 
written on birch bark and appropriately dispatched by the hand of 
an Indian messenger, though well calculated to win a lady's heart, 
were scorned by the divine Sarah. 

Jacataqua, quick to feel change of mood in her lord, soon found 
the key to his sullen silence and abstraction. Wild with jealous rage, 
she determined to rid herself of her hated rival. At last her careful 
watch of Sarah Lithgow 's movements was rewarded. Stealthily she 
slipped after the imeonscious woman, gliding from tree to tree, clutch- 
ing her hunting knife, keen and sharp-edged. A quick spring, then 
a leap from behind, and Jacataqua 's hunting knife fell harmless on 
the moss, struck down by the indignant hand of Burr. The eyes of 
love had been even keener than those of jealousy! 



A Man and a Maid 315 

By all the rules of melodrama Jaeataqua should have slunk away, 
foiled and desperate, while the fair Sarah fainted gracefully in her 
rescuer's arms and revived to forgive him all. Alas, Arnold's men 
were fated to be lucky neither in love nor in war, despite the old 
saying ! Sarah Lithgow went haughtily on her way in real or feigned 
unconsciousness of her recent peril, and without a single backward 
look, leaving Jaeataqua cowering at Burr's feet in mute petition for 
forgiveness. 

The onward march fortunately put an end to an almost intoler- 
able situation, giving Burr work after his own heart and enough of it 
to soothe the sting of hurt vanity. Jaeataqua followed humbly after ; 
her woodcraft and hunting skill, as well as that of her people, proving 
of incalculable value to the harrassed remnant of Arnold's troops. 
When stern necessity called for the slaughter of Dearborn's dog and 
those of the other soldiers, in order to feed the star\aug men, Jaeata- 
qua 's hound was spared through gratitude. And not alone in the hunt 
was the Indian maid of use to the troops. Skillful, like all her people, 
in finding and preparing medicinal roots and herbs, and with an in- 
stinctive talent for nursing, she soothed many a sufferer. Jaeataqua 
the joyous, happy girl, had left Fort Western ; Jaeataqua, the sad- 
dened woman, with all a woman's capacity for help and comfort, trod 
the paths along the Chaudiere! 

She and Burr had come together again, her beauty and his charac- 
ter made that inevitable; but their old, free comradeship was gone. 
The wild and haughty princess had become the meek and watchful 
Indian squaw, catering to the strange whims of her white lord ; proud 
to serve him in the lowliest tasks, her happiness, his smile ; her mis- 
ery, his frown. Rarely now did her French vivacity bubble up ; only 
on some expedition in the depths of the wild, free forest. 

Burr was of real value in the expedition. Abstemious and care- 
ful, he stood the privations of the march better than stronger men. 
His boatcraft, learned from Jaeataqua, commanded the respect of his 
comrades; his careless valor won their admiration. In the Chau- 
diere 's swift current Burr's career was almost ended; wet and ex- 
hausted, he struggled out, to the Indian maiden's efficient care. 

One brilliant exploit the young man performed for which he 
merits the praise of history; the carrying of dispatches from the 
impatient Arnold to the apparently dilatory ^Montgomery. Accounts 
of this performance differ, but all agree that he made the trip dis- 
guised as a Roman Catholic priest. Burr is conceded to have been 
a master of the Latin language, and to have had a fair acquaintance 
with French ; the Catholic priesthood were, for the most part, in sym- 
pathy with the rebels, so there seems a reasonable probability of the 
story's truth. Jaeataqua could have helped him in perfecting his 
disguise and in a knowledge of the patois. Certain it is that Aaron 
Burr carried Benedict Arnold's message to Montgomery; the proof 



316 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

exists in the form of a letter, brief and unilluminating, written by 
Arnold to Montgomery himself. 

"Dear Sir: 

"This will be handed you by Mr. Burr, a volunteer in the Army, 
and son to the former President of New Jersey College. 

' ' He is a young gentleman of much life and activity, and has acted 
with great spirit and resolution on our fatiguing march. His con- 
duct, I make no doubt, will be sufficient recommendation to your 
favor. 

"I am, dear Sir, your most obed't h'ble, 

"B. Arnold. 

"Brigadier General Montgomery." 

Montgomery approved of Burr to such an extent that he gave him 
a captain's commission and made him one of his aids. The eager 
3'outh, anxious to prove his worth, got permission to drill a party of 
fifty picked men to mount sealing ladders in full accoutrement and 
with silent speed ; all this a preparation for a night surprise of the 
upper city. To his chagrin, his promising plan was abandoned in 
favor of one less likely to succeed. 

In the actual charge up the terrible heights of Quebec Aaron Burr 
showed commendable courage and coolness ; struggling to reanimate 
his fleeing troops. Seemingly careless of death, his place was in the 
front. One Chaplain Spring was witness of one of his exploits. 
Though slight in physique Burr carried the heavy body of his dead 
commander, Montgomery, some distance on the field. Spring, in the 
same town with Burr after fifty years, when told he would suffer in 
the public estimation by calling upon him, refused to heed this well- 
meant and highly politic advice, saying that the image of "Little 
Burr" staggering through the snow under the weight of Montgom- 
ery's body, was too vivid in his mind. Critics have questioned the 
truth of this story, but it accords well with what we know of Burr. 

And all this time the faithful Jaeataqua had followed, followed! 
Through the pathless forest, in the midst of countless dangers and 
hardships had she pursued her loyal way, unwearied and undaunted. 
At Porte aux Trembles, so the story goes, Jaeataqua and Burr again 
out hunting, necessity this time their spur, came to a brook, and 
thirsty, bent to drink. Lacking a cup, Burr, courtly in the wilder- 
ness, had filled his cap and was offering it to Jaeataqua, when a 
British officer, also hunting, politely offered his drinking cup. After 
some conversation, delighted with each other, the two officers ad- 
vanced to the middle of the stream, shook hands and solemnly 
pledged friendship. 

It was to the care of this officer and in the protection of one of 
the nunneries of Quebec, tradition has it, that Burr left the faithful 



A Man and a Maid 317 

Jaeataqua. 'Tis a pretty tale, but it strains one's credulity to the 
breaking point. The true ending of this tale of a man and a maid 
in the Maine of long ago we shall, doubtless, never learn. But of 
this we are sure, Jaeataqua 's loyal love and faith failed as tragically 
and as completely as did Arnold's bravery. Both tried and suf- 
fered ; neither won the goal. Heaven grant that the last days of the 
Indian princess were happier than those of Arnold or of Burr! 

One cannot help wondering if, in later life, Burr's thoughts ever 
wandered to Jaeataqua and the carefree days along the Kennebec. 
Certain it is that no more romantic tale of faithful love can be found 
on history's pages than that of the Indian princess, Jaeataqua, for 
the faithless, fascinating Aaron Burr, in the province of Maine in 
that fateful year of 1775. 



THE ROMANTIC HISTORY OF MUSCONGUS; OR 
LOUD'S ISLAND 




The Romantic History of Miiscongus; or Loud^s 

Island 

By MARIETTA MUNRO SIMMONS 

PART I. 

HEN I, William Loud, officer in his Majesty, George the 
Second's, provincial navy, on board a ship of war rid- 
\1 _ ing at anchor in Boston harbor, let loose the fiery tem- 

-ML^fkJ per hitherto held in leash by years of inflexible disci- 
pline, and with flashing eye had replied to some insolent 
demand from a superior officer, that I would not obey, 
though it were "to save the King's head," the act con- 
stituted treason. 

I was thereupon stripped of the clothing befitting my rank and 
flung into the ship's hold, there to await in chains and with scanty 
fare, the consequence of my reckless speech. 

As I lay in my dark and ill-smelling prison my thoughts were not 
pleasant; it seemed that the Evil One himself must have prompted 
that flash of ungovernable anger, which I had no doubt would cost me 
position, friends, home and perhaps life itself. My heart was heavy 
and my spirit bitter as I reflected on my brilliant and promising 
career, thus foolishly brought to an inglorious end ; and I kicked 
viciously at the great rats, which grew too bold for my comfort, 
vainly wishing that it were in my power to inflict like blows on the 
person of the arrogant officer who had been the cause of my undoing; 
between whom and myself had long been unspoken enmity. 

With the passing of the hours this anger cooled and my mmd was 
occupied by many thoughts of former days. 

For many years the name of Loud, shortened of its final letter in 
this new countr}^ had been an honored one in the county of Lancaster, 
England, where my grandfather, the first one of the name to be 
called William, had died about the time of the expedition to Canada 
against the "common enemy" (1689-1696), when his son, William 
(my father) had come to this wild and much disputed land. 

From Canada he had drifted to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, 
where, on February 28th, 1708, he was married to Abigail Abbitt. 
They established their home in that primitive frontier settlement dur- 
ing the war of Queen Anne, at a time when the Indian troubles were 
at their height; and no man knew at what hour he might be required 
to relinquish his scalp lock for the personal adornment of some filthy 
savage, who would come stealthily skulking from the forest backing 
the colony, or boldly bursting forth with horrid yells and whoops, in 
company with many of his hated kind, to wreak hideous vengeance 
on the "pale-face" settlers. 



322 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Here my father erected his simple cabin of logs and my mother 
set to work, in the way of women, to make its rough walls home; 
while they both had much ado to fill the hungry mouths and clothe 
the sturdy bodies of their rapidly increasing family, for those were 
uncertain times. 

Brother John was born in 1710 and myself on August fifteenth of 
the next year; then followed Solomon, Thomas, David, Sarah, Abi- 
gail and little Benjamin, the eighth child, and the several trundle 
beds which were dragged forth from beneath the couch of our par- 
ents each night, were filled to overflowing. But the chinks in the 
walls of our cabin furnished a sufficiency of fresh air, and we thrived 
well on the substantial, if coarse, fare, which our mother made pal- 
atable in sundry mysterious ways. And if our little hearts some- 
times thumped painfully and our small faces paled at the tales we 
heard of lurking savage or prowling beast, we somehow managed to 
be very happy. 

Stern were the commands of our father and many the admonitions 
of our mother, concerning where it was or was not safe to wander in 
our play, and gruesome tales of disobedient children kidnapped or 
murdered while picking berries or straying too near the forest's edge, 
their bodies found mangled by bear or wild cat or never seen of their 
parents more, helped us to heed their warnings well. 

I could not but weep as I recalled the early struggles of my 
parents and remembered their great pride in my later achievements, 
realizing how soon their aging heads would be bowed by my dis- 
grace. 

Our New England settlements followed the shore and were backed 
by an unexplored forest, peopled by unknown numbers of savages, 
whose ingenuity in devising means for the torture of their enemies, 
of whose doings they were fully informed, were fiendish. I well re- 
membered the story told by my father of a young bridegroom, be- 
longing in our community, kidnapped immediately following the 
wedding ceremony, leaving his disconsolate bride to mourn until h!s 
release was secured by an extravagant ransom paid by his father; 
and they were not always thus merciful. 

In my boyhood I had known more than one person in broken 
health, yet living, minus his scalp-lock, and I never shall forget the 
shock I received, when a boy who had been my playmate was taken 
captive, never to return to his home at Kittery. It was small wonder 
that the red-skins were so feared and hated that in time of war a 
heavy bounty was offered by the government for each scalp taken, 
whether that of brave, squaw or papoose. 

In those days the laws were very strict regarding the education 
of children in a community of Portsmouth's size, and ray parents saw 
to it that their children were well grounded in such matters as were 
taught. 



Tht Romantic History of Muscongus; or Loud's Island 325 

I was possessed by nature of a fiery temper, quick tongue and 
arrogant ways, which, the chidings of my mother, the stern authority 
of my father and the strict laws and customs of our time did much to 
subdue. The terrifying earthquake, the like of which we had never 
known in this country before, coming when I was at the impression- 
able age of sixteen years, and in which one and all recognized the 
hand of the Lord, did much toward shaping my character. 

My great love for the sea combined with a desire to aid in de- 
stroying the power of the unprincipled French, who had always in- 
cited the Indians to harrass and distress the English colonists, with 
tales of the success of his Majesty's naval craft in the capture of 
French privateers and other sea-rovers, fired my young blood, and I 
enlisted in the royal navy with the full consent of my parents, being 
rapidly advanced to positions of honor and trust; thus my early 
manhood was spent in the King's service. 

When, in 1740, rumors reached us of war between England and 
Spain, the General Court granted £6500 for the construction of a ship 
sufficiently large and powerful to protect our navigation and trade, 
and Benjamin Hallowell of Boston was given the important contract 
for a vessel of 180 tons. The great keel necessary for this ship was 
a marvelous sight and people turned out in large numbers to see the 
work begun. 

She was a snow and differed only from a brig in having a trysail- 
mast close abaft the main-mast. She was armed with sixteen car- 
riage guns, each carrying a ball of six pounds and as many swivel 
guns. She was named the "Prince of Orange," in honor of King 
William, our glorious deliverer. 

It was indeed a proud day when, under Captain Edward Tyng, 
an experienced navigator, of Boston, I was appointed Lieutenant in 
charge and command of this gallant craft. 

In the peaceful summer of 1742, in company with the ship 
Vernon, we carried our newly appointed Governor Shirley, with his 
party, on a visit to the Eastern Indians, at St. Georges, taking gifts 
and supplies to win their friendship and allegiance from the French, 
in the vain hope of securing a lasting peace. I was greatly impressed 
by the beauties of this country, but little thought ever to see it again. 

The new province snow soon proved herself a wise investment, for 
in 1744, when France joined Spain in her war with England, condi- 
tions in this country were worse than ever before and our coast trade 
was carried on at great hazard; our waters being infested by the 
enemy's craft. My early desire of making successful war upon the 
French was thus gratified. 

On a lovely day in June of that troubled year, while cruising 
along the coast, we saw a sail at a considerable distance, which bore 
down upon us, and in about an hour we discerned her to be a French 
privateer under English colors. We hauled in our guns, took down 



324 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

the bulk head, struck colors and lay to till the privateer came within 
gunshot, when she struck the English and raised the French flag. We 
then threw open our ports and raked him fore and aft with a terrible 
broadside, they only returning the snow two guns and crying loudly 
for quarter. Their mast had been disabled, so that it broke off by 
our first shot, and they were entirely at our mercy. 

The captain was brought on board our ship and delivered his 
sword, commission, etc., to Captain Tyug and was promised that him- 
self and men should be kindly treated. Then the other officers were 
brought on board, also the ninety-four men, being secured in the 
hold. These prisoners we carried into Boston, where they were com- 
mitted to gaol. 

Great was the joy of the people when they learned that this, the 
first American vessel to be engaged in a naval combat, had been thus 
victorious. Large crowds gathered at the docks to cheer our tri- 
umphant arrival and to hail with derision our wretched captives. Re- 
calling my just pride in being able to serve well my King and country 
on this and all other occasions, I knew that whatsoever the evil con- 
struction put upon my rash words, of treasonable intent I was inno- 
cent. I thereupon resolved to cease my repinings and to meet my 
fate as a brave man should. 

Exhausted by my emotions, I fell into a deep sleep, from which 
I was awakened by a sailor, whom I at one time had befriended, lit- 
tle thinking with what great service he would repay me. This poor 
man, at great risk to himself, had made his way to my dark dungeon, 
and with his help I was soon freed from my fetters and clothed in the 
garb of a common sailor. 

The leathern wallet containing my commission and other private 
papers, with monies to a not large amount, were still on my person, 
having been overlooked in the haste of those who had taken me in 
charge, and this we securely wrapped in tarpaulin. My good friend 
then informed me that the night, which was without a moon, was far 
advanced, giving me the exact location at the dock of a merchant 
ship about to sail for Falmouth (Portland). 

I then bade my good friend adieu, and being well acquainted with 
the dangers to be avoided on my own ship, stealthily made my way to 
the deck and thence to the ship's rail, reaching the water safely and 
without raising an alarm. 

Being a powerful swimmer, I easily gained the docks, where, in the 
early dawn with my rough dress, I drew no attention from the busy 
sailors and succeeded in gaining the hold of the now laden ship just 
before her hatches were closed for the run to Falmouth. 

I had thought to lie in hiding until that seaport was reached and 
then to lose myself in some remote settlement of the surrounding 
wilds, where I might still serve my King by waging a single-handed 
warfare against the savage foe ; but my plans were changed and my 



The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Loud's Island 325 

life otherwise ordered by an overruling Providence, that withheld the 
favorable winds, for which the ship's captain longed, not half so 
ardently as his miserable stowaway. 

For what seemed an eternity, soon beset by the tortures of hunger 
and thirst, I lay in the stifling hold before I discerned that we were 
under way. At length, after we had been at sea for many hours, 
so far as I could judge from the sounds reaching my place of con- 
cealment, I could endure my miseries no more and set up such a 
clamor that the hatch above me was soon raised and I was dragged 
forth, to fall fainting at the captain's feet. 

It were well for me that I had fallen into the hands of this good 
man, who treated me with great kindness, when I had thought to 
meet with the harsh brutality then so common upon the high seas. 
Being greatly desirous of his wise counsel and trusting to the honesty 
of his rugged features, after being revived and fed, I proceeded to tell 
him my true story, to all of which he listened well before offering his 
sound advice. His notion was strongly against any stirring up of the 
Indians, who were now comparatively peaceful, and I perceived that 
he was right in thinking that my zeal might lead me to the doing of 
more harm than good. 

"We are now," said he, though in the uncouth language of most 
sailors, "nearing Monhegan, and from here I will, if you so desire, 
sail in toward Muscongus bay, landing you upon a fertile island there 
which is now uninhabited, where you may spend the remainder of 
your days without danger of discovery, there being nothing to call 
the King's craft to this remote and sparsely settled region, and where 
you can render good service by joining the settlers nearby if the In- 
dians again take the 'war-path.' 

"This island," he continued, "is known as Samoset's or, more 
commonly, Muscongus Island. It is said that that great and good 
Sagamore once made it his headquarters. He now lies in the Indian 
burying ground, which you may see on its upper end. Whether or 
not this story be true, it was of a certainty conveyed by him to a pro- 
prietor of Pemaquid, having now, through marriage, come into the 
possession of one Shem Drowne, a tin plate worker, of Boston ; and 
as this man is very much interested in the settlement of these parts, 
you may, if you so desire, purchase the entire island for a very small 
sum." (This I afterwards did, finding all of his words true). 

The captain also told me of previous owners, who had lived on the 
island for short periods, but had been driven from their isolated home 
by fear of the Indians. He remembered having been told that a 
cabin, once occupied by one of these, yet remained standing in a 
clearing not far removed from a small harbour. 

He was well acquainted with the settlements along the coast of 
Bristol, from which this island lay distant about two miles. They 
were Broad Cove, Muscongus, Round Pond and New Harbour, each 



326 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

of which consisted of several widely scattered farms with a neighbor- 
hood garrison, and having grist and saw mills on their suitable 
streams. 

It was a lonely life that I saw pictured before me, yet it held free- 
dom ; while to the dangers of which he spoke I was no stranger. Be- 
sides, having put myself in this man's hands, I felt constrained to 
follow his advice. Accordingly we drew in toward the bay, as he 
had promised, and I was set on shore with a goodly supply of pro- 
visions and ammunitions, the gift of the ship's captain, as was, also, 
a young dog of the large and ferocious breed kept by the settlers for 
hunting and attacking Indians. 

This animal had attached himself to some member of the crew 
while in port, and, like myself, had become a stowaway. He had 
made of himself a great nuisance while on board ship, and was will- 
ingly landed with me at my earnest request. I had named him 
Roger and he proved to be my faithful friend and protector for many 
years ; his affection for his master being as strong as his instinctive 
hatred of the redskins, his disposition proving much more amiable 
than his looks. 

I remained on the shore until the boatload of friendly sailors had 
passed from sight, and then turned forlornly to begin my new life 
at the age of forty-two years, in October of what, by a strange coin- 
cidence, was the first year under the new style calendar adopted 
throughout the British domains. 

My island, for such I ever afterward regarded it, like all others 
which I had observed in the vicinity, was covered with a heavy 
growth of evergreen forest, interspersed with noble trees of maple, 
oak and ash, which extended to the water's edge. 

Leaving Roger, who was wild to follow me, on guard beside my 
precious possessions, with drawn knife and musket in readiness for 
any sudden peril, I followed, as noiselessly as possible, the slightly 
defined path, which led with difficulty through the heavy under- 
growth. 

The bright sun scarce penetrated the gloom of the forest through 
which I passed, so that it came upon me with dazzling splendor, when 
I suddenly burst through a tangle of birch, alder and blackberry and 
beheld the spot which I was henceforth to call my home. In the 
midst of an overgrown clearing, surrounded by the glowing colors of 
the forest, stood the veritable abode of which, though the captain had 
spoken, I had little thought to find standing. Perceiving no evi- 
dences of the recent presence of either white man or red, I went for- 
ward on the run to observe it more closely. 

It was a log cabin, such as were built by the earliest settlers and 
contained but one room, with large joists overhead, and small, high- 
set window openings; the great chimney at one end was budded 
of stonei. This chimney, with its enormous fireplace, remained m 



The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Load's Island 327 

good repair, as did also the great oaken door, which fastened on the 
inside by means of a heavy wooden cross-bar. In spite of its aban- 
doned condition it had the look of home ; and here, on a bed of hem- 
lock boughs, Roger and I passed our first night on Samoset's Island 
in unbroken repose. 

After breaking our fast the following morning, as we had supped, 
on ship's biscuit and spring water, for I dare not strike fire nor allow 
my dog to hunt before making a thorough examination of my sur- 
roundings, with Roger at my heels, I set out to explore the island, 
which proved to be about three miles long by one mile wide at its 
broadest point. I saw signs of a great abundance of game, Avhile the 
flats over which I walked seemed alive with clams and other shell- 
fish. My cabin was located on the northeastern side of the island, 
and I found certain evidences of the Indian burying ground at no 
great distance from my clearing; though I discovered no signs of 
living human inhabitant. 

From the coast I could discern portions of the settlements of 
which I had been told, with a glimpse of Meduncook (Friendship), 
backed by the blue Camden hills, to the north, while all about were 
islands of different sizes, few of them inhabited at this time, even the 
boldest pioneers having been forced to seek the protection afforded 
by the settlements. My explorations at an end, I set myself to live 
my lonely life as best I might, with Roger to guard against any sur- 
prise and my trusty musket always at hand. 

Winter was fast approaching, but my daily "bannock," made 
b.y mixing with sea water a handful of meal, ground from corn 
placed between two stones, and baked over the hot coals on the 
hearth, and the supply of fish and game which I should be able to 
secure, if left unmolested, would secure me from hunger. So I hid 
away a portion of my generous store of corn and beans against the 
spring's planting, and proceeded to daub the chinks in ray cabin 
walls with clay and thatch the roof anew with the coarse marsh 
grasses. 

I gathered a store of the bitter oak nuts and felled great logs for 
my fireplace, collecting many spicy knots of the fragrant pitch pine 
to furnish light for the long winter evenings, which I proposed to 
spend in the fashioning of such articles for the convenience and com- 
fort of my simple abode as were possible with my lack of skill and 
proper tools, also platters and vessels of wood and bark for the bet- 
ter serving of my food and drink; the immense shells of clams and 
other moUusca, washed up by the waves and bleached by the sun, 
having of necessity served my purpose thus far. 

One day in early winter I was visited by a party of men coming 
from ]\Iuscongus and Round Pond, who, having observed the smoke 
rising daily from my chimney, had come to investigate. 

They were very curious as to why I had come thus quietly to this 
lonely spot, but I was able to set their minds at rest without adding 



328 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

greatly to their real knowledge of my affairs. They welcomed me 
warmly and invited me to visit their several homes, which I after- 
wards did, being received very kindly among them. They were a 
sturdy people, whose struggle to maintain life and homes in this land 
of poverty and savage foe showed plainly in their alert, care-worn 
faces, yet possessed of a kindly humour withal. 

I was able, by the payment of a small sum, to procure the small 
boat in which one of my visitors had reached the island, he returning 
to the mainland with his friends; and was told by these men that 
ready money was very scarce hereabouts, barter being the usual 
method employed in trade. 

Soon after this I was visited by a party of friendly but thievish 
Indians, which pleased me not so well and Roger far less than I. 

Of all the neighboring settlements, I liked best that of the Ger- 
mans at Broad Cove, this being reall}^ an extension of their colony 
at Waldoborough. Poor they were, like all the rest, but ambitious, 
thrifty and consequently prosperous, as prosperity was then counted. 
Their cheerful and unfailing hospitality was very pleasing to one in 
my exiled condition; so, leaving my poor dog to guard faithfully, if 
much against his inclinations, my humble possessions, I made fre- 
quent excursions to this place, and more particularly to the dwelling 
of one kind-hearted old settler, whose fair-haired daughter, Lucy, 
ere spring had come, promised to share with me the perils and iso- 
lation of my island abode. 

We were to be wedded in the month of June and I laboured hard 
at unaccustomed toil, that our home might be in readiness for her 
coming. 

The clearing was greatly enlarged by spring, as I had felled many 
trees to furnish logs for the building of a shelter for the young cow 
and lambs for which I had alread.y bargained, also the stockade neces- 
sary for their protection against the ravages of wild beasts. The 
ground was then burned over and a crop of corn and beans planted 
at the expense of very great toil. The work which I had planned 
for the long evenings became now a labour of love, extending far into 
each night ; while the great, bare room grew more like home with the 
gradual addition of my crude achievements. 

Meanwhile peace with the Indians continued, although I scanned 
the opposite shore daily and with anxious heart for any signs of 
their treachery. But on the fair morning of my bride's home-com- 
ing, I banished such thoughts from my mind, allowing no doleful 
forebodings to darken its cheer. 

We had been married at the home of my wife's parents, amid 
the feasting and rejoicing of her relatives and friends, and were 
accompanied on our trip to the island by her two stalwart, rosy- 
cheeked brothers, to assist in carrying her dower chest, spinning 
wheel and other possessions. In her own arms she had transported 



The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Loud's Island 329 

the most treasured one of them all, being a fussy old hen with her 
twelve lively chicks, a gift from her mother. 

As we entered the clearing we could see all about us my young 
vines growing luxuriantly amidst the blackened stumps. Beside the 
door-way an old lilac tree had burst into purple bloom and all around 
in the fresh green grass grew wild flowers, soon to be supplanted by 
Lucy's finer "posies." 

Later, when the door had been thrown open and the fire un- 
covered, to send its soft smoke curling lazily from the ehinmey, and 
the hen with her brood had been set free to run clucking and *chirp- 
ing, while the mistress of it all went singing about her homely tasks, 
I would have willingly exchanged neither kingdom nor consort with 
the King of the realm, treasonable though the thought may have 
been. Even poor Roger, who sulked in wretched jealousy for a time, 
soon came to love her gracious presence and gave to her his true 
allegiance. 

Brave, strong and sweet, as became a pioneer's bride, my Lucy 
took up the burdens of her new life, ignoring danger, sharing my 
hard labours and performing her own many tasks, each with a never- 
failing smile. 

For a year our existence was peacefully happy. Visits were ex- 
changed between ourselves and friends on the mainland ; and many a 
party of Indians, who were child-like in their friendliness in time of 
peace, were fed at our rough table, leaving us gifts of useful and 
beautiful baskets, which they had great skill in colouring and weav- 
ing. They were also shameless beggars, who did not hesitate to steal 
that which begging failed to procure. 

During the long, hot, summer afternoons we sometimes gathered 
berries from the clearings of which there were several, seeming to in- 
dicate that there had been more than one attempt to occupy the 
island in years past. We prized these berries highly when dried, as 
an addition to our monotonous fare in winter and sometimes were 
obliged to dispute with some ravenous black bear for their possession. 
Fish caught in the summer were also dried for winter use. 

An account of one of these fishing trips, on which my wife always 
accompanied me, I being glad of her assistance, as well as not caring 
to leave her alone on the island, will show that my naturally hot 
temper and imperious ways, fostered by years of command over 
others, were still my besetting sins, giving rise to the many stories 
circulated among the inhabitants as to the cause of my mysterious 
appearance in their midst, which they never fully understood and 
resented accordingly. 

On this occasion the fog closed in suddenly, completely envelop- 
ing us while at some distance from the island. Not having a com- 
pass I became completely bewildered, with nothing but the rote of 
the ocean upon the rocks to guide me. I bade my wife take her place 
in the bow and look out for land. 



330 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

She soon pointed into the dense fog and cried, "There is land!" 
and in another moment, "There is land!" pointing in an opposite 
quarter, while I kept on rowing, this way and that, at her excited 
command. First she would call, "Land from the bow!" and again, 
"Land on the port side!" so confused was she by the strangeness of 
our position. After fruitless hours of rowing at her contradictory 
directions, I angrily shouted, "Sit down, woman! You've made 
more land than God Almighty." She, poor soul, sank weeping into 
the bow, while I, in silence, rowed for dear life, using my best judg- 
ment, arriving finally at the island. 

As winter advanced we were confined much to our cabin, where 
there was always enough to be done ; occupied with her spinning, 
knitting, weaving or sewing, Lucy was never idle, and there was al- 
ways some task for my hands to perform, as everything employed in 
the pursuit of our daily lives was, of necessity, home-made from the 
raw material. On rare occasions a newspaper, printed months before 
in Boston, would reach us. having been eagerly read by each in turn 
and passed on from one settlement to another, at length reaching us 
on the outskirts of civilization. 

In the spring our son, whom we called "William Solomon," was 
born, and the carved wooden cradle, over which I had laboured long 
and carefully in the making, was brought forth to take its position of 
honour in our home. 

Soon after this, in 1754, came rumors of another Indian uprising, 
with tales of terrible outrages committed by them at Meduncook, 
Gushing and their neighboring islands. Then followed news of an- 
other war between England and France, and we were once more 
compelled to defend our homes through a cruel period of Indian war- 
fare, which lasted for nine years. Although in these parts, the 
trouble was intermittent, there was no feeling of security in all that 
time, during which man^^ valuable lives were sacrificed and much 
property destroyed. 

At Round Pond, Muscongus and other settlements in our vicinity, 
the women gathered at the garrison houses, while the men went 
armed to their work nearby, or in times of special danger all fled to 
Fort Frederick, at Pemaciuid, leaving their homes undefended and 
many losing their lives on the way. 

Observing the state of our neighbors, we decided to remain in 
our island home as long as was possible, we having as good a chance 
as any to reach the fort by water in an extremity. So, straightway, 
I set about enlarging and strengthening the stockade and prepared 
our cabin to withstand the savage attacks in so far as possible. 

My brave wife, with Roger on guard beside her baby's cradle, 
went serenely about her increasing duties, always within reach of a 
boatswain 's whistle, which would call me to her side at the least sign 



The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Load's Island 331 

of danger, for I dare not wander to any great distance from my 
loved ones. 

On hearing this shrill warning one day, while off my guard, be- 
ing deeply absorbed in my occupation, I turned to see seven Indians 
coming stealthily upon me. By quickly snatching my musket from 
the ground where it lay and being a sure marksman (the result of 
naval training), I was able to kill four of them, chasing the others 
upon the run, while yelling my maledictions in a thund'rous voice. 

Had the Indians but known, I, myself, had more cause for fright 
than they; for with the fourth shot my ammunition was exhausted, 
leaving me wholly at their mercy. 

When a party of Indians were known to be in the vicinity one of 
us must be on guard at all times. On these occasions, sometimes last- 
ing for weeks together, I would sleep during the first hours of the 
night, my poor wife securing her rest later when I watched in her 
stead. 

Well do I remember the experience of one terrible night. I had 
gone to rest greatly wearied by a hard day's work, falling forthwith 
into a heavy sleep and failing to waken at her frightened call. 

Some Indians, thinking to surprise us while asleep, without mak- 
ing the slightest sound to arouse Roger or alarm my wife, succeeded 
in gaining the low roof, intending to descend the chimney and enter 
the kitchen through the broad fireplace, one Indian being half-way 
down when discovered. Like a flash Lucy seized the straw bed from 
beneath me and threw it upon the glowing hearth. The descending 
Indian dropped into the furious blaze, which it instantly created, and 
rolled into the brilliantly lighted room with shrieks of agony. 
Widely enough awake by then, I seized my axe and quickly dis- 
patched him, while his cowardly companions, not knowing the cause 
of the sudden conflagration so fatal to their companion, fled with 
his death yells in their ears and Roger roaring at their heels. 

Many of the most horrible deeds were committed by Indians who 
had long been on friendly terms with the white settlers. The case of 
Joshua Bradford, of Meduncook, aroused great indignation among 
us, he being murdered by an Indian who had frequently been en- 
tertained at his home; one whom he trusted as a friend, and whose 
life he had at one time saved at great peril to his own. 

At the close of this war a lasting peace was made with the Indians, 
though the sound of the savage war-whoop will never cease to echo 
in the memories of those having heard its inhuman sound. 

Our little daughter, Lucy, had been born into the midst of all 
these perils, being three years younger than her brother, and our re- 
maining years together were employed in the care and education of 
our children, who were cut off from the advantages of the settle- 
ments, where schools were held either at the forts, or from house to 
house among the people. 



332 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

We were glad to welcome to our island the new-comers who be- 
gan to arrive after the Indian troubles were settled ; as many of my 
wife's kindred had gone with the three hundred German families, 
who left Waldoborough to found new homes in Carolina, on account 
of our unsettled land claims which were the cause of great hardship 
to many. 

I am an old man now, living in peace among my children ; yet 
my thoughts are all of the stirring events of my youth. My Lucy 
is calmly sleeping not far from the home she loved so well. Some 
day in my dreams I shall hear the call of the boatswain's whistle, 
when I shall hasten to her side as gladly as in days of yore. 



PART II. 



"On the fourteenth day of February 
From Hampton Roads we set sail, 
All bound for old La Guayra 
Upon the Spanish Main. 
The captain called all hands right aft 
And unto them did say. 
'Here's money for you to-day, my boys, 
Tomorrow we're going to sea.' 

"It was early the next morning, 
Just at the break of day. 
When the man all at the mast-head 
A strange sail did espy ; 

With her black flag flying all under her mizzen-peak. 
Came bearing down this way. 
'I'll be bound for to say it's a pirate-ship,' 
Bold Daniel then did say. 

"It was just three hours afterwards 
When the pirate came up alongside. 
With a loud and speaking trumpet, 
And, 'What do you here?' he cried. 
'My ship is the Roving Easy, 
Bold Daniel is my name. 
And I'm bound down to La Guayra 
All on the Spanish Main.' 

" 'Come heave a' back your main top-sail 
And bring your ship under my lee ! ' 
'I'll be blowed if I will!' said Daniel, 
'I'd rather sink at sea.' 



The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Loud's Island 333 

Then he ran up his undaunted j3ag, 
Our lives to terrify. 
And his big guns on our small arms 
He straightway did let fly, 

* ' It was the hour of ten, my boys, 
When this battle first began, 
They mounted four six-pounders. 
We fought a hundred men. 
Four small guns were our only arms, 
Our hands were twenty-two; 
In less than twenty minutes 
The pirates cried Perdu!' 

"And now the fight is ended, 
All off the Columbia shore; 
'Tis a pretty place in America, 
They call it Baltimore. 
So here's a health to Bold Daniel, 
Likewise his jovial crew, 
Who fought and sunk the pirate ship. 
With his four, and twenty-two." 



HE "LAUGHING MARY," with all sails set, flew mer- 
rily along before the wind, as she rounded Pemaquid 
Point on her homeward run from Boston to Loud's 
Island, on a certain beautiful afternoon in early spring, 
year 1810. 

At the helm, her master, Captain William Solomon 
Loud, otherwise Captain Solomon or, more familiarly, 
Captain Sol, a robust, middle-aged man of dark and striking appear- 
ance, sang feelingly, though with more regard to emphasis than 
rhythm, a sailor's ballad very popular at that time, narrating the 
exploits of one "Bold Daniel." 

In the rendering of this ditty, the vowels were either clipped 
short or elongated, as required to accommodate the queer, old-fash- 
ioned tune. ''Perdu" was unhesitatingly translated, "more blue," 
and the hated word, "pirate," pronounced as if spelled p-y-r-i-t, 
was ejected from the singer's lips with indescribable venom. Cap- 
tain Solomon, having had first-hand experience with the despicable 
breed in his day, knew whereof he sang. 

He was in a happy frame of mind, and with good cause ; he had 
disposed of the cargo of wood, which he had carried to Boston, at 
a good profit, and was now returning, laden with provision, also a 
frugal supply of tobacco and good West India rum, for the use of 




334 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

himself and neighbors ; and was passing dangerous Pemaquid Point 
(as yet unlighted) in broad daylight and under clear skies, after 
touching at Portsmouth, N. H., where he had been successful in per- 
suading Robert Oram, a young carpenter, of M^iom he had been 
told, to come with him to the Island and there ply his trade for a 
season. 

This youth, who, though but twenty-one years of age, was very 
skillful at building the frame-dwellings then coming to take the 
place of the primitive log cabins, which up to this time had been the 
only style of architecture in use on Loud's Island, made his appear- 
ance on deck, while the echo of the rousing toast to Bold Daniel, yet 
rent the surrounding air. He was greeted cheerfully by his per- 
spiring employer, who proceeded to entertain him with tales of the 
historic coast of old Bristol, now in plain view; he, in turn render- 
ing an account of his former life and history. 

He told of his father, Captain Robert Oram, memories of whom 
the old song had awakened, who, having come from England to settle 
in Portsmouth, was taken captive by the French, in 1798 or '99, 
while in command of the ship. Industry, and had returned, after his 
release, only to meet death by drowning, when master of another 
craft, which was lost off Cape Cod. 

Very tenderly he spoke of the pious training received by himself 
and brother, William, at the hand of their widowed mother ; their 
home being in a house built and owned by Captain Oram in Kittery, 
just across the line from Portsmouth.^ 

As Captain Loud listened to this story, told in a simple, straight- 
forward manner, unadorned by the profanity common to this time, 
and observed more closely the physical aspect of the stranger, not tall 
but splendidly proportioned, with honest, dark eyes, gazing from a 
fair and open countenance, he felt that he had been wise in his 
choice of a man, who must become as one of his own family during 
the many months necessary for the completion of the new dwelling, 
which his prosperous circumstances now warranted. 

Thus occupied, the time passed quickly and they soon dropped 
anchor within snug little Marsh harbor. 

The same sun which had glorified this beautiful spot to please 
the eye of the first Loud to come to its shores, now shed its rays on 
earth and sea, yet on a far different scene. Now, many large clear- 
ings broke the monotony of the forest and the cozy cabins of the 
inhabitants encircled the harbor, with their green fields and rich 
pasture-land; while in place of the unbroken solitude, greeting that 
lonely exile, these arrivals were met by a number of sea- tanned fish- 
ermen, who, on observing the approach of the Laughing Mary, had 

^This house is still standing, a part of the hotel there. His descendants 
have never benefited by the settlement of the French claims, owing to the loss 
of all records, in a tire, which destroyed the Custom House, at Portsmouth. 



The Romantic History of Mitscongus; or Loiid's Island 335 

hastened to the shore in order to grasp the hand of her jovial cap- 
tain, and to receive news of the outer world, from which they were 
practically isolated. 

The stranger w^as bluHly introduced and warmly welcomed, as 
would be any man for whom Captain Solomon was voucher. 

"Ever set foot on furrin sile afore?" inquired one old salt, with 
a waggish wink in the direction of his companions, who chuckled 
appreciatively at the newcomer's polite though mystified reply. 

This peculiar question was later explained by the captain, as a 
covert allusion to the very peculiar political situation of the island, 
which, though lying within less than two miles of the coast of Bris- 
tol, through a peculiarity in its recording by the U. S. coast sur- 
veyors, could not be positively claimed by that town. Hence the joc- 
ular allusion to foreign soil. 

The cabin, soon to be vacated in favor of a more pretentious 
dwelling, was a great improvement on those occupied by the first set- 
tlers, being much better lighted and more roomy. The immense 
chimney, built of bricks brought from the kilns at Round Pond, 
ascending through the center of the building, contained two wide 
fireplaces as well as the capacious brick oven. The "best room," 
considered too good for use, was seldom opened, the busy home-life 
being lived in the pleasant, spacious kitchen. 

Into this room, which he soon learned to love, the young man was 
conducted, coming unannounced upon the captain's quiet wife and 
youngest daughter, Mary, who has been described as "Loud's 
Island's fairest daughter," engaged in preparing the evening meal. 
A great black pot hung over the blazing fire, bubbled odorously ait 
Mary stirred its contents, making an excuse for her glowing cheeks, 
as she offered her shy greetings and received her father's resounding 
kiss. 

Other members of the family soon appeared, while the captain 
was eagerly relieved of the precious packets containing coffee, tea, 
white sugar and "gev/gaws" for his "women folks." Portions of 
snuff were also brought forth from his bulging pockets and set aside 
for the cheering of several aged friends. 

On the arrival of the two manly sons of the house, comprising 
the crew of the Laughing IMar^^, who had followed their father after 
making things shipshape on board that trim craft, all sat down to a 
table loaded with bountiful, if coarse fare, the guest seated at the 
right hand of Mistress Loud, and all doing their kindly best to put 
him at his ease among them. 

As darkness fell, tallow candles were lighted and neighbors be- 
gan to arrive for an evening's visit, as was always their custom on the 
occasion of the captain's return from a coasting trip. 

The women whispered among themselves or listened quietly to the 
conversation of the men, their knitting-needles flashing in the flick- 



336 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

ering light ; for from the early hour of rising until they retired to 
rest at night, they found no time for idleness, even the little girls, 
in their quaint, homespun gowns, applying themselves busily to their 
"stents." 

From his unobtrusive seat in the chimnej^-corner the stranger had 
good opportunity to observe these people, whom he afterward found 
to be upright and God-fearing, though, naturally, not entirely free 
from the prevailing vices; engaged in wresting a hardly-earned liv- 
ing from sea and land, with courageous hearts and smiling faces. 

Their speech was a peculiar mixture of the stilted English em- 
ployed by the first settlers, intermingled with the uncouth language 
of a less polished generation, a soft drawl blending its crudities into 
a pleasing vernacular. 

The captain, from the depths of his great chair, satisfied the 
curiosity of his neighbors as to the doings in Boston and along the 
coast, after which he skilfully guided the conversation to topics of 
more interest to the quiet listener. 

Sprawling his great length comfortably in the warmth of the 
cheerful blaze, he spoke of his own boyhood, thus leading the most 
reserved to relate tales of the pioneer life. 

Stories were repeated of the adventurous existence of the first 
settler (Captain Solomon's father) and of his brave wife, the sound 
of whose boatswain's shrill call was said yet to haunt the scenes of 
her troubled life. 

Tales, also, were told of the dreaded "sea-sarpint," which had 
struck terror to the heart of many a sailor hereabouts, in earlier 
days. One present gave a vivid description of its awe-inspiring ap- 
pearance, as related to him by his father, who had once seen it as it 
propelled its horrible length through the sea, with scaly head erect 
and ugly eyes gleaming. 

The captain remembered well the terrorized condition of the un- 
protected dwellers on these coasts during the "hard times" of the 
Revolution ; when, after the burning of Falmouth, in October, 1775, 
they hourly expected annihilation at the hands of the British, their 
fears, happily, being unrealized. 

Harbor Island, home of poor, brave IMistress McCobb, where she 
was left alone, the sole provider for her half-dozen small children, 
after the departure of her husband, Samuel McCobb, to serve in the 
Continental army, was the only place in this vicinity visited by the 
enemy. 

One morning in the spring of '76, an English cruiser dropped 
anchor before her cabin door and landed six young sailors, with their 
superior officer, in quest of plunder. 

On being disappointed in their search, these young despoilers, in 
a spirit of malicious mischief, began uprooting the poles on which her 
young beans were beginning to climb. 



The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Loud's Island 337 

As the destruction of these vines meant certain hunger, if not 
actual starvation, to her small family, the desperate mother seized 
one of the prostrate poles and, recklessly charging the unprepared 
enemy, drove them from her domain. 

"There must be some good in the English, I guess," said the cap- 
tain in concluding this tale, "for the officer ordered them all on board 
ship, telling them to 'Leave the old woman and her beans alone.' " 

Among the more venerable guests were two of the island's very 
early settlers, William Carter, an honest, intelligent Scotchman, the 
first to intrude on William Loud's lone occupation, who had arrived 
just previous to the Revolutionary War; and Leonard Poland, a joc- 
ular Englishman, who had settled on "Ma'sh" (Marsh) Island di- 
rectly following the war's successful close.^ There were, also, Wil- 
liam Jones, John Thompson, John Murphy and others, following 
later, yet in the prime of their vigorous manhood. 

They talked with pleasure of the by-gone days, their whimsical 
conversation intermixed with quips and jokes, at the expense of those 
giving too free rein to their galloping imaginations ; but their faces 
darkened when they spoke of their unfair treatment at the hands of 
Bristol, in which town they had paid taxes, since first levied there in 
1766; yet had received none of the advantages of citizenship in re- 
turn. 

It grew late, and, heeding the captain's suggestive glances toward 
the face of the old clock, the guests took their departure ; the weary 
youth climbing with the "boys" to his bed in the loft, to dream of 
Indians, pioneers, and a hideous sea-serpent fleeing before a pirate- 
ship, flying at its mast-head the captain's great, blue stocking, much 
resembling the one on which his daughter had so busily knitted. 

• * « 

Work upon the new house was begun immediately following the 
arrival of the young carpenter, and, observed with lively interest by 
the admiring natives, was carried on indefatigably by its industrious 
builder and his willing assistants ; the great frame being hewed from 
heavy oak and mortised and braced firmly into shape. 

When this frame, after many days of hard labor, neared com- 
pletion, there was great bustling and hurrying among the women of 
the household, whereat every available pot and pan was mustered 
into service and the well-heated brick-oven was filled and emptied 
and filled again with the food necessary for the proper celebration of 
the event of the "raising." 

At length the day arrived, and with it came the people from all 
parts of the island, the women to assist in the preparation and serv- 
ing of the feast for the men, who, at the direction of the builder, 
heaved and hauled with might and main, in their effort to erect the 

^The descendants of this man are still in possession of Marsh Island. 



338 Tlie Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

massive frame over the cellar which awaited it. As time passed the 
pace grew fast and furious, amid a great noise and confusion of 
tongues; the workmen's spirits rising in proportion to the rapid set- 
tling of the contents of the keg, which Captain Solomon had pro- 
vided for the occasion, in accordance with the prevailing fashion. 

The master-workman plainly showed his disapproval of this cus- 
tom and spoke out in the blunt way which was his custom when 
strongly moved, much to the astonishment of his hearers. 

After the frame had been successfully set in position, with a 
great cheer, echoing far and wide, they repaired to the cabin, where 
Mistress Loud had superintended the spreading of such a feast as 
would appease even their ravenous appetites. 

After the tables had been removed from the kitchen, old-fash- 
ioned dances and games, in which none were either too old or too 
young to join, were continued until tlie company was too weary to 
enjoy the fun. 

Candy-pulls, huskings and quiltings came in their season; while 
spinning bees, each spinner with her wheel going 'cross lots to the 
home of some neighbor, wiiose quiet kitchen would become a dron- 
ing hive of industry, until the great mass of fleecy rolls had been re- 
duced to skeins of yarn for weaving or knitting, were greatly fa- 
vored by the matrons of the island. 

Wool-pickings, consisting of the freeing of newly sheared fleeces 
from foreign substances were attended by one and all. Each of these 
gatherings was generally made the excuse for some simple frolic at 
its close, in all of which Mary Loud was the leading spirit. 

Robert Oram entered freely into the innocent pleasures of the 
islanders, respected and well-liked, in spite of his plain-speaking on 
occasion. 

He had received a fair education and was very well informed by 
means of much reading and was an interesting narrator from the 
fund of anecdotes and reminiscences, with which his mind was 
stored; all of which served to make his presence a welcome addition 
to the restricted life on the island. 

He soon became acquainted with the simple rules governing the 
community. A school was maintained by the payment of a propor- 
tionate sum by the parents of each scholar, in a schoolhouse built by 
the early settlers, of rough stones, situated near the center of 
the island — the teacher "boarding 'round." This same building 
served as a place of worship, also the place for holding all business 
meetings. Their only official was a school agent, having full charge 
of all affairs relating to the public welfare. 

Their poor, who were few, were assisted by their more prosperous 
neighbors, without ostentation ; of vicious, there was none. If such 
a thing be possible they were, without laws, a law-abiding people, 



The Romantic History of Muscongus; or Loud's Island 339 

conducting with wisdom their own affairs, with neither outside aid 
nor interference. 

Meanwhile worli on the new house progressed slowly, as doors, 
windows and all wood-work must be fashioned by hand ; but it was 
finished at last and Robert Oram had no excuse for remaining longer 
on the island; yet the "season" for which he had been engaged was 
prolonged to a lifetime, when Mary Loud consented to become his 
wife. 

They settled on the western coast and on this spot the remainder 
of their busy, useful lives was spent. He was made deacon of the 
local Baptist society and frequently held the honorable office of 
school agent ; so great being his desire for the education of the chil- 
dren, that he taught the little school himself, when the services of no 
other teacher could be procured for the small wages paid. 

His rough land was developed into a fertile farm, and here, to 
them, were born ten children, eight of whom lived to found homes of 
their own, though not upon Loud's Island. 

The frame for the new house, which he was obliged to build for 
the accommodation of his increasing family, lay upon the ground for 
one year, while his neighbors tried to shake the "Deacon's" firm re- 
fusal to furnish intoxicants for the "raising." That sturdy advo- 
cate of temperance, in an intemperate time, replied to their arrogant 
demands : " If my house cannot be raised without rum, it can rot up- 
on the ground." 

This house, which was finally erected, and without rum, still 
stands on the island, now being the home of Mrs. Carl Svensen. 

So his honorable life was passed in the difficult tilling of the soil 
and in the plying of his trade, upon the island or adjacent mainland, 
where many examples of his handiwork yet stand. The house, at 
Bristol, occupied by his grandson and namesake, bears mute evidence 
to the perfection of his craftsmanship.^ Yet he was always able to 
find time to work or speak for the good of the community in which 
he lived, and reared his family "in the fear of God and love of 
man, ' ' until his untimely death in 1854. 

During his life-time Robert Oram believed that the island taxes 
were illegally collected by the authorities of Bristol and tried to be- 
stir the natives to some action ; but they hesitated to pit their strength 
against the keener wits on the mainland. After his death this belief 
was sustained by the courts, when a younger generation of islanders, 
remembering his counsel, appealed for relief from taxation, when 
the island vote, which had turned the tide at a Bristol election, was 
thrown out. 

^Robert Oram built Commodore Tucker's house at Bremen in 1830. 



340 The Trail of the Maine Pioneer 

Thus, though the natives are denied franchise (which they do not 
regret), Loud's Island has received an unique independence, very- 
satisfactory to its inhabitants. 

Captain William Loud lies in an unmarked grave ; the only tangi- 
ble evidences of his having lived being the old deed, by which he 
received Muscongus Island from Shem Drowne, and which is still 
on record, and the original commission, issued to him by Governor 
Shirley, which is now in the possession of one of his descendants. 

The ashes of Robert Oram, the ''strong man of Loud's Island," 
rest in the little island cemetery, a great boulder from the fields 
which were once his own, adorned with a splendid bronze tablet, the 
tribute of his appreciative descendants, marking his place of burial. 



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